Through the Storm
by John H. Freeman
Summary: Two different people, from two totally different worlds meet in the wildest of ways. One finds someone to love, another someone to care for. And both came from that "Orange-Colored Sky" for a Christmas together.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note- I've been putting this project off for too long. I'm going to balance between this, and another story I've been working on...**

**Please read and review!**

A story by John Henry Freeman

Through The Storm

Chapter 1-

It was a cold, dark, and stormy night. Winds over twenty-five knots tore through the woods, dropping and channeling their force wherever a trail or some other opening was present. The trees bent over slightly, their branches whipped into frenzy at the tops of the trees. Whatever cold temperature was already present was made more pronounced by the wind chill. The only upside, however, was the fact that it was only wind. The snow had yet to arrive.

In the distance, there was a break in the forest. It was a long rectangular piece of land, with a strip of packed dirt in its center. On the edges of the strip of land was tall grass, turned grey with age as the year descended into the winter season. The grass now laid flat, the wind mowing it down where it stood, rippling and billowing. At the far end of the airfield, there was an old dilapidated hangar with two levels and a control tower, and a grayed old windsock fluttering slightly, but nonetheless stretched completely horizontally by the gusty winds.

The old abandoned airfield gave an air of loneliness, and the sense of an era long gone. It was the remains of a small airbase that had been constructed in the First World War, when the first and few fighter aircraft had taken to the skies for their deadly aerial ballet. Now, not a single pilot or aircraft occupied the hangar… or so one would think. From a distance a person could only see the aged old buildings, their weathered sides grey against the surrounding greenery. However, if someone took a closer look they would find that the old base was not abandoned. Their every move would be seen by the lone figure standing in the control tower.

He was dressed in a green "Class A" army uniform of the United States Army, and his markings ranked him as a Technical Sergeant. However this was not his rank, nor did he hold any rank at all! Though one could assume otherwise, the man watching was not but a simple civilian. He was young, and appeared to only be sixteen years of age, with blue eyes and black hair in a shag cut and a wiry and even-muscled form. He stood with an air of confidence, shoulders back and head high, with a fine stature and hardened attitude. However, this was not his common demeanor. Normally, the young man was a kind and respectful person, who followed the ways of his elders. In the end, however, he was still just a sixteen year old kid.

Sighing, he turned around and headed for a stairway behind him. The rickety old steps groaned as he descended them to the second level of the hangar, where he could smell wood smoke from a stove. The upstairs level was divided into two rooms, the main room with the stairs and access to the main hangar, and another room for the now nonexistent commanding officer. He turned for the door to the CO's quarters, and quietly pushed the door open to reveal an orange glow of firelight. The room was nicely furnished, with a single armchair and a desk at one end and a wood stove in the corner. Behind the desk was a large window, with the same plates of glass as on the upper half of the hangar doors. They rattled violently in their panes, an uneven and staccato rattle like the roll of a drum. At this time a few flakes of snow began to drift by the window, and the young man turned away crestfallen. There was a small oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, which he had lit along with the wood stove earlier upon his arrival. He liked the smell, and it calmed his nerves as he entered the room.

Shutting the door behind him, he then made his way toward the stove, where a figure lay stretched out on their back, arms splayed out at different angles. The figure, a girl that was around the same age as the young man, lay on an old rug that had already been laying in front of the stove. She was around five feet tall, with sandy blond hair drawn into a thick braid. She wore a tan sweater vest, with a white dress shirt and dark green tie. For her outermost layer, she had been wearing the "close to black" uniform of the RAF, or Royal Air Force. This was now in a roll under her head, serving as a pillow. Last of all and much to the surprise of the young man, she wore no pants. She only wore a pair of panties; white silk with a little decorative green bow the same color as her tie. This was exactly as how he had found her… or in another sense, how she had found him.

He quietly made his way to a corner of the room, where a simple hard-backed chair sat. He then brought the chair back to the fireplace, and set it at a spot where he could watch the girl, putting the chair's back to her. He then unbuttoned his uniform, and slid his arms out of the sleeves only to set the squared shoulders back onto his own.

More flakes began to dance by the window.

Quietly sitting down, and folding his arms across the back of the chair, he rested his head on them. He watched her adjust, and she now lie on her back. He watched her chest slowly rise and fall with each breath she took. Quickly the heat took its toll, and bit by bit the young man's eyes became watery. Within the hour he was asleep, and the days events came flooding back into his mind.

_-=| Hours Earlier… |=-_

He jerked awake to the roar of an engine, an aircraft engine. He shook his head to take the sleep out of his mind, and was surprisingly alert. He was in a flight harness, and his right hand gripped the top "ring" of a metal flight yoke.

"My plane?" he mumbled wearily.

He looked around, and found a horizon outside his fighter's canopy. It was pitching upwards, and the blue nose of his plane pointed toward a forest below him. Snapping to action, he pulled back on the stick and the nose came up again. His radio squawked with the sound of a concerned friend.

"Hey Cameron, are you okay?" the other man shouted.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"You just nosed down like you went limp on the controls! Did you pass out?"

The plane continued to roar onward, streaking over lush green trees.

"No, I don't think I did," he said in a confused reply.

The radio remained silent for a few minutes, and Cameron glanced around the cockpit, checking his controls. He banked a bit to the right, and brought the aircraft in a wide turn. Memories started coming back to him. He realized he was back where he had always been; shooting over the lush green forests of Britain. He had been training for an air show that was scheduled for the next day, and was planning to do a dogfight with advanced combat maneuvers. Straightening out of the bank, he saw an aircraft in the distance, a FIAT G-55 Centauro. It was a fight of British ingenuity versus Italian elegance and craftsmanship.

As he came nearer to the Italian fighter, he brought his own plane around in a tight bank and settled in to the left side. The pilot of the other fighter waved, and Cameron saw him waving through his canopy.

"See, I'm good."

"That's great. Just don't pull that crap again!"

The two continued on, weaving between the hills in the forest. Eventually they came upon a town, which to the surprise of both men abandoned and decaying.

"Wait, what town was that?" the friend said worriedly.

"I don't know. I didn't even know there was an old town out here!"

As both men puzzled over what they had found, they looked forward to find that they were coming up on a mountain. Above the mountain was the shroud of thick, grey fog. Both Cameron and the other pilot shied away, not wanting to get lost in the fog. The last thing either of them wanted were their "survivor planes" smudging the side of a British mountain.

"I don't like the look of that fog," Cameron said.

He looked up and above his plane through the canopy, and watched the fog roll over the planes at an altitude a few thousand feet higher. Rocking his wings, he banked away in the direction they had come. His friend did the same. To their amazement however, the fog had come behind them.

"What the hell is this? We've got to climb to miss those hills!" Cameron said.

He pulled back, and his plane's nose covered the horizon. The plane climbed higher and higher, and eventually he leveled the craft out at five-thousand feet. The fog became thicker and thicker as he flew on, and soon he heard a tapping noise. It became more and more concentrated, until he realized that it was hail hitting the plane. With a pull on the adjacent levers he regulated the fuel mixture, and then followed that up by adjusting the switches on his panel for de-icing.

"How are you doing back there?" he asked his friend.

"Sounds like I'm standing near a piss-poor San Francisco street performance!"

Cameron laughed, and watched as the hail began to mix with flakes of snow. He eyed an exterior temperature gauge, which told him that the air temperature outside the aircraft was rapidly dropping into negative numbers.

"What the hell is this? Are you getting negative ten on your temp gauge?"

"Yeah, and dropping!"

The plane roared onward, and Cameron once more adjusted the mixture. He had fully closed the cowl flaps on the engine, so as to get as much heat as possible on it. The weather only got nastier and nastier.

"Are you icing?" Cameron asked the Fiat pilot in concern.

The man began to reply, only to have his transmission garbled by interference.

"Can you repeat, you're cutting out."

The radio crackled again, but soon cut to static. Lights began to dance outside of the aircraft, and a low rumble shook the airframe.

"What in the hell… have I gotten myself into?" he asked himself.

The plane continued to push through the fog, and streaks of light forked outside the plane and onto the wings. The lightning however was green, much to Cameron's uneasy curiosity. He pulled the nose up again, only to find the controls to be sluggish. They were icing up. He called to the Fiat pilot in earnest, but only received static. He began to sweat in his uniform, and began to throw the controls back and forth in his hands. He had to do what he could to keep them free from ice. Cameron began to pray silently, and continued to pull the nose of his fighter up in hopes of pushing out of the cloud cover.

"C'mon damnit… you can do it girl."

He patted the side of the cockpit lovingly.

"Just do this for me, I pray to god you can do it."

He rubbed the fuselage.

"C'MON!" he shouted, and he banged the frame with his fist.

Suddenly, he was hit with a blinding light. His pupils quickly adjusted, to uncover a fluffy white world around his plane. He was above the clouds.

"YEAH! I DID IT! I'M OUT!" he shouted in triumph.

He playfully rolled the plane, and brought it back on even keel. Noticing that the aircraft's controls were now freer in his hands. He descended a few hundred feet, and began to skim along the surface of the clouds. He could no longer see the forest below, or anything else for that matter. Looking around, he only saw miles, and miles, and miles… of clouds.

"What in the hell?" he though.

He continued along on course, searching for an end to the cloud cover. Ahead of his aircraft loomed a large cumulus cloud. Without giving half a thought, he shot through the billowing mists and out the other side, to reveal the vast greenery of the forest once more. Sensing that the thick of the storm was over, he descended toward the woods until his altimeter read seven-thousand feet.

"Hey buddy, you okay?" he called over the radio to the Fiat pilot.

He waited and waited, but recieved no answer from the pilot. Checking his fuel gauge, he figured he had enough fuel.

"To hell with it, I'm looking for him."

With that, he tossed the yoke to the right and made a sharp bank. This brought the massive wall of fog and storm back into view, which made Cameron cringe with uneasiness. He scanned along the top, making his way down and looking from left to right. He still had no sight of the Fiat. Banking left, he began to scout along the bottom edge of the billowing fog. Every so often, he would call out on the radio. Every time he would recieve no answer. He continued to search, though his efforts were in vain. Eventually an hour had gone by, and Cameron decided that he had to return, otherwise he would either crash like his lost companion, or come in on fumes.

"DAMN IT!" he shouted as he shoved the throttles forward.

In defeat, he turned away from the fogbank. Setting his radios, he then began to make his way back to the coast.

"I can't believe it," he said. "I lost him. I got him killed."

He climbed to an altitude of ten-thousand feet, and continued to cruise along. The fog was mostly dissipated now, though the center of the large mass continued to cling to the mountain. The sound of the fighter's engine was dull, and did little to help with the feeling of loss. The plane now was cruising toward an area of the woods that appeared to be flatter, but still fairly hilly. Cameron became confused as he continued on.

"Where in the hell am I? I should be getting closer to the coast shouldn't I?"

He consulted his GPS navigator, only to find that he had no signal or satellite access. The sense of helplessness was growing, and now grew further still with the discovery of no navigation aids. Cameron then began to methodically check his other navigation equipment. Radio beacons? None. Radio? Still no signal. Navigational maps? Busy flying an aircraft with no autopilot.

The plane continued on an even keel, for what seemed to be an eternity to him. He began to think about what had happened in the fog bank, and why it had so easily claimed the Fiat. What sort of phenomenon had occurred? And what was with that damned green lightning? There were simply too many questions to answer at the time. His weary eyes eventually stopped scanning the gauges of the aircraft. They began to wander across the windshield, lazily scanning the horizon before him. They continued to scan the horizon, daydreams coming alive and wishes dying... when he saw something.

A lowly speck, about two miles off and a few thousand feet above.

He watched the speck as it grew larger, and larger, and larger in his window. He remained at his altitude, not knowing what it was exactly. He was completely distracted by what he now saw in better detail above his aircraft. It was a figure. A human-shaped figure that either appeared to be floating... or flying.

"What in the hell?" he said to nobody in particular.

He passed by the figure above, and made another turn. He returned his gaze to the figure, who seemed to take notice of his presence. They seemed to scrutinize his fighter as he cruised by, and held some sort of long shaft. Upon closer inspection, he understood what he was seeing.

"Oh Jesus, I'm being gunned down!"

He looked at the figure again, and watched. They continued to keep a watch on his aircraft, but slowly lowered their weapon. Cameron quickly took the fighter a few miles away from the sniper.

"Where in the hell am I?" he wondered.

The person now looked like a speck with legs. They would weave back and forth every so often, but commonly the current position was maintained. His curiosity burning, Cameron began to make a lazy ascent toward the figure in the sky. He made his way every few hundred feet, keeping a constant watch on the person with the rifle. As he made a thousand foot increase in his altitude, another speck appeared in the distance moving fast and straight. Squinting, he still could not make out any sort of characteristics on this new apparition. He could say one thing for certain; it appeared to be noticably larger than his plane. The new object came rapidly closer, not at all appearing to be a threat thus far... until the sniper drew a bead on the new target.

And fired.

The report of the rifle was heard through the roar of the engine, which surprised Cameron. Seeing as the sniper was distracted, he increased his ascent rate and put the throttle to its stops. Upon reaching his altitude, he threw the lever back and began to glide toward the person. More and more features became clearer and clearer, until he fully realized what he was looking at.

"My god, it's only a young girl!"

As his plane continued by her, he watched as she pulled the bolt back on her rifle. It appeared to be a rather large number, not fitting of someone her age and perportion due to the impossible weight of the weapon. Despite his disbelief, the figure continued to open fire on the speck as it got closer and closer. He then turned his attention to what the sniper was shooting at. It appeared to be a large black object, with some sort of honeycomb design on its exterior. It had some sort of red markings patterned on its surface, and the whole object itself appeared to be a crude type of aircraft. Cameron knew what he had to do.

Currently, the guns on his plane were not dismantled. Instead they still were allowed to operate, only firing paint shells for practice and airshow events. Not yet knowing the capabilities of this new aggressor, he knew he had to help this young girl in some way or another. He brought his plane above the object, and opened the lock on his weapons. As soon as he was ready, he put the nose of his plane in a dive, and fingered the trigger.

The girl on the other hand, watched dumbfounded as the fighter shot above her and the black mass. The only thought going through her mind was her concern for the pilot's safety, and not her own. Before she could warn the pilot, the black mass's red markings began to glow. All the events seemed to unfold in slow motion. The fighter pulled away in attempt to distract the "thing..." the girl was a split second too late in defending herself... and a red beam shot out from one of the markings, effectively detonationg the clip of ammunition on the rifle and severely damaging one of the devices she had keeping her aloft.

"Gotcha' you bastard!" the pilot shouted, thinking he was leading the object away.

He made a tight turn, and came back to see what was occurring. The black object had continued with its forward momentum, and the girl was nowhere to be seen. The only reminder of where she had been was a greasy black trail of smoke that led downward. Cameron's heart fell through his chest upon realizing what he had done. Without giving a second thought, he pointed the nose of his plane downward, idled the engine, and let gravity do its work as he plummeted. He could see the point of the greasy trail, and the girl still had a few thousand feet to fall.

"I'll be damned to hell if I let another person die because of another one of my screwups today!"

He got closer and closer to her, and watched. She seemed to be conscious, this being made evident by the fact that she was drunkenly flailing her legs and arms to regain control. Calculating his speed and altitude in his head, Cameron made a final decision. He angled his plane closer to the girl, who seemed to be able to see him again. He rocked his wings as a sign to follow, and the girl obeyed. She slowly began to drift toward his plane, and they only had five-thousand feet. As they got nearer, Cameron reached over and opened the latch on the canopy of his plane. The gust of wind slammed it back, and immediately pushed him back in his seat. He straightened his plane now, and only hoped his plan would work.

The girl came closer and closer, until she was above the canopy. There was only two-thousand feet left. Cameron then gently pulled back on the yoke, and the nose began to rise while simultaneously, the girl began to fall into the cockpit of the fighter. He wrapped his left arm tightly around her upper body, pulling her in on himself. He could feel a well-endowed chest pressing against his own, though that moment was not the time for such thoughts. For many years after the event, he would still wonder why he had noticed this. Her legs still hung outside the aircraft, but he knew she was safely on board. He gave a gentle tug on the yoke, and the nose came up more rapidly. His airspeed indicator read three-hundred fifty knots, and he had no desire for the plane to disintegrate when he had just achieved his goal. Just as they had only nine-hundred feet left, he brought the horizon level with the wings, and the airspeed slowly began to drop.

And the wind began to blow with a lesser ferocity.

_-=| Back to the Present... |=-_

"GAH!" Cameron exclaimed in a half-gasp, half-shout.

He sucked in deep shuddering breaths of air, and sat bolt upright in his seat. Still groggy from sleep, Cameron looked around the room. Objects around him started to come into focus. The desk, the armchair, the woodstove… and the girl. The girl who he had saved from plummeting into the forest below… the one who he had guided onto the wing of his plane. He rose from his seat, and quickly made his way to where she lie to look down and make sure she was safe and sound.

As he looked upon her face, he jumped as her eyes snapped open. After that, he found his gaze to be returned by a pair of dazzling blue eyes. He was too stunned to speak, and felt embarassed. He forced himself away and turned around so his back was to the fire.

"Are you... I mean... how are you feeling?" he said blushing.

The girl remained silent for a second, and began to sit up. She began to check if the man had done anything to her, and was content to find that she had been safe.

"I'm fine thank you," she said with a kind smile.

Cameron continued to stand silently with his back to the fire. Unknowingly, he had been holding his emotions back since losing the man in the Fiat, only having the load added to upon interfering with the dogfight. He began to take in uneven breaths, overwhelmed by the feelings of thankfulness and joy that he had allowed someone as young as himself the chance to live out the rest of their life. A single hot tear rolled down his cheek.

"I can't believe I've done something like this," he unknowingly mumbled to himself. "Someone as beautiful, and perfect as this... and it was my decision that almost got them... no... her... killed."

He stood quietly, enraged with himself and his actions. He did not know that the girl had heard every word.

"GOD DAMNIT!" he shouted, sinking to his knees.

The girl had risen to her feet, watching Cameron.

"Please stop, I'm alright! It's really okay!"

He continued to kneel, his expression dark and his head bowed. The girl came over to where he knelt, and put her hand on his shoulder.

"I hate it when people beat themselves up over me, or anyone else. I've done reckless things before that were just as dangerous as that."

Cameron continued to kneel, the heat from the fire pulsing against the back of his uniform.

"I'd really like to know your name, so I may properly thank you. I'm Lynette Bishop, a sergeant in the 501st Joint Fighter Wing."

Rising to his feet, he used the cuff of his uniform to wipe the moisture from his eyes.

"You're a wonderful person to meet, Lynette. I am Cameron Taylor, and unlike yourself I hold no rank. I am but a mere stunt pilot who performs at airshows, though my abilities come naturally to me. Back at home, many a pilot has said that my skills are comperable to that of the great aces of the Second World War... and thensome."

She smiled warmly, and Cameron felt a flutter in his chest.

"You are a wonderfully humble person, Cameron."

"And you are a wonderfully beautiful sergeant, Lynette."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note- Hopefully, someone is continuing to read this section of the website. I really hope that whoever, if anyone has read this, has enjoyed the story thus far. I find it wonderful that I was able to get out nearly 5,000 words! Anyway, please read and review!**

Through The Storm

Chapter 2-

Lynette was slightly taken aback by the comment. She was silent for a few moments, and turned slightly red.

"I… ah…" she said, hand on the back of her head. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

Cameron chuckled hoarsely, still wiping his eyes. "I knew you'd like that. It's interesting to see what people do when you are more straightforward with them."

He turned and faced Lynette, who reached for and and held his hand.

"Now… seeing that we've messed about long enough here, we need to figure out a plan. We can't live in an old hangar forever…"

Lynette gasped in realization. "My god, you're right! I haven't even given a second thought to my friends and superiors! They must be worried sick about me."

Cameron stood quietly in thought, considering their options. "Don't you have any sort of communication method with your base?"

"Well... I had a small communicator, but I lost it in combat."

Lynette returned to the fire, and sat down. Cameron also joined her to think. After a few minutes, he looked up.

"Well… maybe…" he said in thought. "I… I think I have a plan."

Lynette looked to him with interest. "What did you come up with?"

"Well," he said slowly, "we'll stay the night here tonight. I have some survival stuff in my plane; blankets and such. If the snow is not too deep in the morning, we'll take my plane up tomorrow, and hopefully you can point me in the right direction."

Lynette nodded in agreement. "That sounds good. Your aircraft seems to be quite capable in its abilities…" she said, coming to a pause.

"Hmm? What is it Lynette?"

She had a curious expression on her face. "I was wondering… I've never seen such a livery like yours on a Spitfire before, however, it seems it's markings are of Britanian origin."

Cameron was surprised by the question. "I had the same puzzlement about those things on your legs as well! They appear to be of British origin as well, if I'm not mistaken."

"It's Britanian, not British."

"Eh?"

"You know, Britanian, as in the Britanian Empire?"

Cameron raised an eyebrow. "Well, I guess it works. Just so you know, that's how the Romans addressed the country before our current time."

He rose to his feet, Lynette watching him.

"Let's head downstairs for a second Lynette."

She rose from where she sat, and Cameron began to make his way to the door. He opened it, and went to the stairwell that descended to the main hangar. Before he made his way down, he stopped.

"Oh, hang on a minute. I must grab a lantern."

He turned around and ran back to the CO's quarters. A moment later, he returned with a box lantern which had a mirror in the back. He lit it, and returned to the stairs.

"It'll be dark now, so mind your step."

He walked down the old steps, which creaked in protest. When he finally reached the ground level and the packed earth of the hangar floor, he stopped and turned around.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Royal Air Force! I, Cameron Taylor, will now unveil the newest in a long line of precision fighter aircraft from the Vickers-Armstrong Company! BEHOLD!"

He turned, and trained the light on the fuselage. The beam revealed a long, streamlined fuselage, and a canopy that blended in with the fuselage. Also revealed were the more specific characteristics of the aircraft, such as the curved and smoothed tail fins and the broad, elliptical wings.

"The Vickers-Armstrong Supermarine Spitfire, Mark Nine!"

Lynette clapped in appreciation, laughing.

"I remember when I flew one of these as a training aircraft."

She ran her gaze over the fuselage of the aircraft, her heart fluttering with nostalgia, taking in its details and giving a rough evaluation of the plane's condition. She stopped when she saw the nose of the plane.

"Why is that painted blue?"

Cameron laughed. "Do you want to know?"

"Yes."

Cameron approached the aircraft, and ran his hand lovingly over the propeller blade closest to him. "Really, it's like a memory of the pilots of the past wars, like warpaint."

"So what does the blue nose mean?"

"Well, during the beginnings of the fighter aircraft, after the open wooden frames, we had the solid frames and dual wings of biplanes, triplanes, and the like. During that era, everyone had their markings on their aircraft, markings that indicated that they were an individual in a group that had a specific characteristic; the big fish in the small pond."

"So what is the meaning of this marking?" Lynette pushed.

"Well, I'm sure you know that when a pilot achieves some sort of high accomplishment, or gets a certain number of kills, they are known as an ace pilot. During the era of old aircraft, when one became an ace in the Royal Air Force they painted their fighter's nose blue."

"What was the point?"

"Testosterone, bragging rights, being a pompous bastard, or just showing that you've earned the recognition," he said as he counted the items off on his fingers. "Above all, it really was more of a signal to the opposing force you were to be shooting at."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Why to let... eh?"

Cameron stopped and listened. He heard a sound above the wind, not quite there, but loud enough to be taken notice of. Lynette began to speak, but he held up his hand to silence her.

"Lynette, do you hear something?"

She pricked up her ears, but found it difficult to hear. "Maybe… what is it?"

"I think..." he said heasitantly, "well I mean thought I heard an engine."

They listened again and the sound returned, though higher in volume. As it passed over the hangar, the source of the sound paused as though interested in something.

"They're looking for me!" Lynette exclaimed. She listened once more, and the volume remained at its current level. "How do you think they found us?"

Cameron smiled. "Well, it would be difficult to miss this place, especially since there's lights on upstairs. Who wouldn't make rounds of this place? It's the most likely location for any person who's been stranded." He stopped as the droning began to move over the roof of the building.

"Can you tell whose plane it is Lynette?"

She listened intently as it stopped in front of the hangar doors. "I may be wrong… but it sounds like..."

Before she could finish, the sound stopped. Cameron heard something fall with a soft thump in the snow outside, and and a yelp of shock.

"Perrine," Lynette finished.

Before Cameron could ask who this "Perrine" was, there was a banging sound on the door of the hangar.

"Hello? Is someone here?" someone shouted in French-accented English on the other side. "Please, if there is someone here open up immediately! I have urgent business I must discuss with whoever is here!"

Cameron looked at Lynette, who nodded yes. He then clutched her from the side, putting his right arm around her shoulders as they made their way to the hangar door.

"Yes, we'll be with you in a moment!"

With his free hand, he reached up and pulled the latch free that held the rolling doors. He then stood back and held Lynette again.

"The door is unlocked. You can push it open."

At first, nothing happened. Lynette looked at Cameron with an unsure look, and glanced back to the door. Her expression showed that she was waiting for Cameron to open the hangar door.

"Cameron..." she whispered. "Why don't you..."

"Shh. I don't know who it could be for sure, and you don't know either."

Before Lynette could protest, there was a small "creak" sound that came from the door. Both she and Cameron looked up as the door began to move, bit by bit. It was difficult to move, for there was at least a foot and a half of snow impeding its progress. Eventually, however, it was open at least three feet to reveal another girl who was also around Lynette's age, light blond hair being whipped around by the winds and snows, also without pants. Cameron stepped forward holding Lynette.

"State your business, please," he said in a hard voice. "This young lady and I were busy getting ready for the trip to her base tomorrow."

The girl at the door looked at who was standing next to Cameron. Her eyes widened.

"Lynette! My god, everyone is worried sick about you!"

Cameron ushered her in from the cold.

"I've been taking good care of Lynette. There's a wood stove with a hot fire upstairs, and we've been keeping warm. I'll get the door."

She nodded, and entered the hangar. She stomped her feet and shook the snow off before making her way toward the stairs. Cameron then turned to Lynette, who was still standing next to him.

"Can you go keep her some company?" he said taking his uniform off and putting it over her shoulders. "I have to get the door."

She nodded, and returned to the stairs. After both girls had disappeared, Cameron fought until the hangar door thumped shut. He then turned around, and faced the old Spitfire that sat behind him.

"I hope you're up the flight ahead, old girl. I'll need you to do your best, to fight to your damned hardest."

After giving the fuselage a loving pat, he too disappeared up the stairs.

-=| Meanwhile in the CO's Quarters... |=-

"So what on earth happened to you?" Perrine asked in earnest.

Lynette laughed, and adjusted the green uniform that Cameron had draped across her back.

"Well," she started, "I cannot remember exactly where I was for sure, but I was in combat with a large Neuroi."

"Which we eliminated in your absence," Perrine said.

Lynette nodded. "I figured you would, seeing as I had failed. I don't think things would have turned out well for me anyway..."

Perrine looked to the fire, which cast an orange glow on the floor. "Why do you say that?"

"I had cut it far too close for comfort," she said. "I had sighted up the Neuroi, and hastily brought my gun up. But before I could fire..."

Cameron entered the room, and the door rattled.

"Cameron showed up."

Cameron laughed. "I must have shown up on cue again!"

He shut the door and looked to the fireplace, which had dimmed.

"I'll throw another log on."

He then left the room, and disappeared back into the hangar. The girls looked back to each other, and faced the fire again.

"So, Lynette. What did you intend to do before I showed up?"

"I had no clue... but Cameron did. We would have flown out together in the morning."

"...and then?"

"Flown back to the base."

The girls continued to talk, while Cameron returned down the stairs. The hangar had become chilly, and his breath came forth like a blast of steam. He flashed the light around the hangar, until he found a modest woodpile in the corner. He trotted across the hangar to the pile, and picked up a good-sized log.

"Why would you both have flown together?"

"My striker unit is broken."

Cameron had then turned around, and begun to make his way back to the stairs with the piece of wood. As he passed by the Spitfire, a thought hit him and he stopped.

The girls sat quietly in front of the fire. The snow continued to fall, and the window was half frozen.

"I can't believe these Britanian winters!" Perrine said.

Lynette nodded. "You have to get used to them if you live here. In some places, like Yorkshire, you can get three feet of snow."

The door behind the girls opened with a bang, and Cameron entered the room hurriedly. He shuffled over to the woodstove, tossed the piece of wood in, and shut the door. He then proceeded to shut the door to the room.

"Oh, you're back," Lynette said.

Cameron smiled. "Yes, that I am."

He returned to the girls, but remained standing. Perrine also stood to talk to him.

"Mr. Cameron?"

He looked to Perrine. "Oh, you don't need to be so formal. Besides, that's my first name anyway. Feel free to address me as you like."

Perrine nodded. "Yes, well... Cameron. On the behalf of the 501st Joint Fighter Squadron, I'd just like to say thank you for taking care of one of our pilots. She is very important to us all."

Cameron smiled. "Well thank you, Mademoiselle. She's been just a treat to be with, and I knew I must take care of her. Who the hell would leave someone out in a freezing blizzard without pants and only a uniform?"

Lynette laughed. "You sure seem to be concerned about my well-being, Cameron."

Cameron nodded. "That I am, Lynette. This is probably the wierdest day of my life, and one of the saddest as well. All I have now is warmth and my plane," he said. "Speaking of which... I think I do have one way we could contact your base Lynette, seeing as we've established the fact that you don't have a way to keep in contact with them."

Perrine interrupted him. "Well, I do have one way; we have transmitters that we fly out with. However, they are only limited range radios."

Cameron nodded. "Well, I figured you would have some way. There is absolutely no way they'd send you out without a lifeline," he said with understanding. "However, I have a regular aviation radio in my Spitfire. I can just tune to a relay tower and contact your base, if you could give me a frequency."

Perrine raised an eyebrow. "Relay tower? What's that?"

"Wha?" Cameron said in surprise. "You don't know what a relay tower is? They're all over in this region! They're needed for all the air and sea traffic in the Dover Strait!"

The girls were silent. Cameron also stopped talking, confused as to what he had said.

"What air and sea traffic?" Lynette said.

"I..." Cameron started. "You know the ferry boats, fishing boats, and passenger airliners."

"Cameron," she said in a confused tone. "There is no air traffic over the Strait. We're in the middle of a war."

Cameron scoffed at the idea. "What do you mean _war_? Britain hasn't been in a war since World War Two, and that was over sixty years ago back in the forties!"

Lynette's jaw dropped. "What the hell do you mean _sixty years ago_? You don't even know what war I'm talking about? Don't you even remember that huge thing you saved me from? We're at war with the neuroi!"

"What the hell is a neuroi?" Cameron said, confused.

The room went silent. Lynette became weary of her caretaker, and slowly backed away.

"Seriously, what is a neuroi?" he exclaimed. "I've never even heard of anything like this! It would have been all over the TV news by now!"

Lynette simply stared at him, silent and uncomprehending.

Cameron also stopped, and eventually sighed in defeat. "Look, I'm sorry for getting so... riled up shall we say. Let's just stop before we try to kill each other."

Lynette nodded in agreement. "Yes, lets."

"So anyway," he said getting back on topic, "I assume that since you have no relay towers you'll have other radio operators and outposts, correct? Like for early warning purposes."

"Yes, we do."

Cameron clapped his hands together and balanced on the balls of his feet. "Well then, Lynette, in the morning I'll try to fiddle with my radios and see what we can get."

Follwing that, everyone let loose a sigh of relief. Cameron then walked over to the desk in the corner and sat in the old chair behind it, putting his elbows up, and lacing his fingers together to rest his chin on his hands as he thought. Lynette returned to the fire to lay down, stretching out her long, slender legs and crossing her arms behind her head as she lay on her back. Perrine, not knowing what to do, simply plopped down in front of the woodstove and drew her knees up to stay warm.

-=| A few hours later... |=-

It was dark now, and snow had frozen half the window over. Lynette had fallen asleep, as had Perrine. Cameron, however, was still awake and silently watching them from the desk like a sentry. It had been like this for the few hours that had passed, and he had not moved from his seat. His buttocks ached from sitting on the hard seat, his shoulders ached, and his back hurt. He finally tired of sitting, and carefully stretched his limbs.

"My god, what time is it?" he muttered to himself as he rubbed his eyes.

He glanced at his wrist, only to realize that his watch was with his belongings. Luckily his belongings were in a "stuff bag," which he always stashed in a small cargo compartment he had modified into the tail of the spitfire. This was because the plane originally had no such thing. He silently stood up, doing his best to let the girls sleep, and tip-toed his way across the room to the door. He turned the knob, flinging it open and stopping it suddenly as to avoid making the hinges squeak. Seeing his escape had been successful thus far, he then padded his way from the room and to the dark stairwell where the temperature around him dropped like the blade of a guillotine. He then, groping blindly along the way, made his way down the staircase to the main hangar. At the bottom of the stairs, he stood quietly, letting his eyes adjust to the moonlight which filtered through the windows.

Upstairs, Lynette awoke to a chill on her back. She sat up, looking around for the source of the chill, her eyes still slightly blurry from sleep. The open door eventually came into focus, and she silently wondered why it was open. Her question was answered when she glanced over at the desk, which was now unoccupied.

Cameron had then made his way across the packed-dirt floor of the hangar to his plane, going to the right side near the trailing edge of the wings' mounting. He slid his hand along the fuselage, and eventually found a depression in the skin with a raised center, much like a large knob for a stove burner. He turned it, and the latch within the fuselage responded with a metallic 'click.' As he pulled the hatch on its hinges, he found its seal to to be slightly sticky, beginning to freeze to the fuselage.

"Shit," he muttered. "I hope the aviation fuel isn't freezing up."

He reached in, feeling through a large volume of durable fabric within small space. Finding a handle on the stuff bag, he yanked it out of the plane and landed it with a 'thud' onto the floor.

By now, Lynette had made her way to the top of the stairs. She had also heard the same 'thud' from the hangar below. Now with her curiousity guiding her, bare-footed, she quietly began to descend the stairs into the darkness.

Cameron unzipped the stuff bag, and rummaged through its contents. After a few minutes, he found a rechargable flashlight which he pulled out and switched on to illuminate the bag's contents further. This now revealed two blankets, a tarp, canned and dried goods, water, first aid materials, and other assorted survival equipment; the flashlight he held currently included. He had also packed additional items, though these were only to keep his morale up if he ever did become stranded. These items were, which he thanked god for, an iPod with speakers and earbuds, a crank-charger for the flashlight and iPod, a bottle of hard liquor which he addressed as 'grog,' and a shot glass. He dug further into the stuff bag, looking for a watch which had been given to him by a lady friend a long time ago. To his dismay he never found it, and so sighed with defeat. He still had his iPod however, which also had a clock.

He pulled out the charger, a cord, the iPod and its speakers, and the two blankets. As he was zipping the bag shut, he heard a crunching of rock and soil behind him and froze.

"What are you doing up so late?" someone asked.

Cameron almost jumped out of his skin. He sucked in a breath of icy cold air, trying hard not to make a noise. He then spun around, to find Lynette standing in the moonlight which came through the glass panels of the hangar door. He stared at her with a look of surprise on his face, which only grew when he noticed that her appearance had changed.

"What the hell are you doing down here?" he whispered to her.

He then stood up from the bag, and approached her with a quizzical look on his face. Lynette remained where she was, and Cameron came closer still until he was face-to-face with her.

"And what is with the getup?" he asked as he pulled on a cat ear which was one of a pair that had formed on the top of her head. When he did this, he felt Lynette tense up.

"Ahhahahah!" she gasped. "P-please stop!"

Cameron chuckled. "What do you mean stop? They're fake cat ears aren't they?"

Lynette nodded her head in denial. "No, they're real, so please stop pulling on them now!"

Cameron was dumbfounded. "You're kidding me!" He said as he let go of her ear.

"No, Cameron, I'm not," she said as she rubbed around her cat ear. "And besides, few people know that I'm ticklish around my ears."

"Oh, really?" Cameron said with a grin.

"Yes really," Lynette said blushing slightly. "Now, besides my sister and my mother, you know as well."

"I'm really just more surprised that you have ears!" Cameron said. "Let me guess, you have a tail as well?"

"Yes, and I'm _not_ going to let you pull on it."

"Damn, I was just getting started!" Cameron said jokingly. "Well, seeing as you won't let me have fun with your various appendages, you can take a blanket for yourself while you're down here."

"So that's what you were doing?"

"Yes. It's not like I would leave you here, not that I really want to..."

Lynette leaned down, and pulled a blanket from the stuff bag. As she did so, she eyed the various items within. She noted the liquor, and the first aid equipment. As she rose to her feet, she noticed the items that Cameron held.

"What on earth is that little red device in your hand?" she said motioning to the iPod.

Cameron raised an eyebrow. "It's an iPod. Haven't you ever heard of one?"

"A what?" she said quizzically. "I've never heard of such a thing. What does it do?"

"Plays video or film clips, shows pictures, and plays music most importantly," he said as he held up the speakers and earbuds by their cords. "And these little numbers are used to play the sounds from it."

Lynette stared with awe at the little mp3 player. "Is that black shiny part where you view the film and pictures?"

"Yes."

"Oh wow! I'm surprised that someone has even made something like that! I didn't think that we had such technology available, seeing as it's 1945."

"Pardon me?"

"I said, Cameron, that I didn't think that we had come up with any sort of technology like this since it is 1945."

Cameron, though still confused, nodded his head in false understanding. "Ah, I see."

He continued to rummage through the bag, but found no more. He then pulled out the other blanket, zipped the bag shut, and stuffed it back into the small compartment. As he turned the latch on the door, he felt Lynette tap his shoulder.

"Can I hear some of the music?" she asked.

Cameron smiled. "Of course, I'll be happy to! I've never had someone else rank my repritoire of music before anyway."

Sliding the blanket onto the wing he pulled his hands out from under the bundle with the electronics still in their grasp. With a dull 'clunk,' he set the speakers on the wing, plugged their cord into the iPod, and switched the little device on. In the dark hangar, the screen was blindingly white. After waiting a few minutes to let his eyes adjust, he began to thumb through the playlists.

"So, Lynette, I've got..." he said as he began to read. "Songs by the B-52's, Billy Joel, Blue Oyster Cult, Electric Light Orchestra, Franz Ferdinand, the Steve Miller Band, and..." he said, coming to a pause on the next list item.

"What is it?" Lynette asked.

"Tell me, you _have_ heard of The Beatles, haven't you?"

"Who, exactly?" she asked.

"YOU'RE SHITTING ME!" Cameron exploded, waking Perrine and causing Lynette to jump back a bit. "You come from Britain, yet you have never heard of the four lads from Liverpool that changed musical history. You are, as detailed, the true one and only day tripper. That, or you got nailed by Maxwell's Silver Hammer."

"I'm sorry! I didn't know they were so important!" Lynette whimpered as she put her arms up in defense.

The two were silent for a few minutes, and Lynette cautiously lowered her arms. After the few minutes had passed, Cameron sighed.

"Well then love, you're going to need a lesson in music history," Cameron said in a false British accent.

"Oh my, that was good." Lynette muttered.

"Huh?"

"The fake accent. Most people sound really corny and fakey."

Cameron laughed. "That sounds corny just thinking about it," he said as he fiddled with the speakers on the wing. "Now then, let's start with... this one."

And with the push of a button, melody filled the darkness around the plane. Cameron grinned broadly, one that most would call a 'shit-eating grin.'

(A.N.- The Beatles: I'm Happy Just To Dance With You)

(Second A.N.- If you're wondering about the lines and lines and lines of double-spaced text, I had this formatted a certain way already but every time I change it, the on-site word processor screws it up. IT'S MAKING ME PRETTY DAMN MAD.)

_"Before this dance is through,_

_I think I love you too._

_I'm so happy when you dance with me."_

_"I don't want to kiss or hold your hand._

_If it's funny try and understand,_

_there is really nothing else I'd rather do..._

_'cause I'm happy just to dance with you."_

_"I don't need to hug or hold you tight._

_I just want to dance with you all night._

_In this world there's nothing I would rather do..._

_'cause I'm happy just to dance with you."_

As the lyrics continued to roll by, Lynette clapped and smiled. "I've never heard anything like it! It's wonderful!"

Cameron smiled brightly. "Well then, if you can..." he said approaching her, his hand outstretched invitingly, "and if you want to, shall we?"

Lynette laughed. "Sure, just don't step on my feet!"

And so, the two began to dance in a fast swing.

_"If somebody tries to take my place,_

_let's pretend we just can't see his face._

_In this world there's nothing I would rather do..._

_'cause I'm happy just to dance with you."_

Cameron danced circles around the spitfire in the rays of moonlight. He spun and twirled Lynette, and they danced with an incomprehensible flow.

_"Just to dance with you!_

_Ooooohhhhhhhh..._

_Is everything I need."_

_"Before this dance is through,_

_I think I love you too._

_I'm so happy when you dance with me!"_

_"If somebody tries to take my place,_

_let's pretend we just can't see his face._

_In this world there's nothing I would rather do..._

_I've discovered I'm in love with you."_

_"Oooohhhhhhhhh..._

_'Cause I'm happy just to dance with you."_

_"Ooohhhhhhhhhh..._

_OOOOOhhhhhhh..._

_OH!"_

Both ended the dance with vigor, quite winded, and most notably much like a tango. Lynette, who had one leg in the air, chest heaving, stared at Cameron. Cameron also did the same.

"Your eyes... they're blue..." Cameron said.

"As are yours," Lynette finished.

And on cue...

"What on earth are you... two... doing?" Perrine said with wild surprise sliding into shock.

At that point, the two glanced at her. "Ah..." both said, turning red.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note- Wooohooo! 5,000 words is wonderful! Anyway, I need to continue on with this story. I kind of laughed when I looked at the other postings... For example, there's one story on here where my two chapters equal just about all of it's 11 chapters! Wow...**

Through the Storm

Chapter 3-

The eventful night ended at 12:07 in the morning. The situation eventually found Cameron and the girls in front of the fireplace again; the two girls getting the blankets, Cameron sleeping under two uniforms as a crude blanket. On his torso was Lynette's uniform, and his own covered his legs and feet. The snow had stopped, the fireplace had died down, and the wind had settled to a breeze. Hours passed, and drifts fingered their way across the old runway. After what seemed to be an eternity, the first twilight began to creep over the horizon, the rays of sunlight breaking through the limbs of the forest. Cameron, who had been reliving the night in his mind, awoke to an odd chime in his ears at six in the morning. This was provided by the mp3 player, which had an alarm built in. He wore earbuds as to avoid waking the girls.

"Time to pray the fuel hasn't frozen up," he muttered quietly to himself.

Rising to his feet and donning a uniform, he followed the same pattern of 'stealth' as he had the previous night. He crept down the stairs to the plane, and made his way to the hangar door. Heaving with all his strength, the door groaned and snapped, breaking through the ice and snow that had frozen to it's front. Once the large sliding door was open wide enough, he was greeted by one foot of snow which tumbled in the entrance. The actual depth of snow was two feet, with 3 foot drifts appearing every so often down the length of the runway.

"C-c-crap..." Cameron said with his mouth curled, brow furled and twitching with irritation. "I can deal with this later."

He then turned back to the Spitfire, which sat behind him with the sun glinting off of the propeller blades. Reaching for one of the prop blades, he pulled down in the direction the blades rotated and was surprised to find them freer than he had expected. Seeing that not all hope had been lost, he then made his way to the cap to the aircraft's fuel tanks. Upon opening the cap, he was disappointed to find that a jelly-like substance had formed on the fuel. Attempting to use his weight, he then rocked the aircraft and returned to the fuel port. He was happy to find that the fuel beneath the jelly layer was burbling up through it. Therefore, the fuel was still mostly liquified. He then dug through his pockets, and eventually found the key to the Spitfire.

"Alright girl, let's see how much fuel you _have_."

He clambered up onto the left wing, and unlatched the canopy. After plopping down into the pilot's seat, he then inserted the key into the ignition, and switched it to 'run.' He reached for the panel after that, and methodically switched on the batteries and power units, as well as the radios and displays. As soon as the fuel gauge flicked on, his day only got better.

"Wow! I still have half a tank!"

He then ran a checklist of his aircraft's systems, all of which seemed to be in working order. After making sure things were checked out, he then switched the avionics off and removed the key from the ignition. Dropping the key into his pocket, he hopped off the wing to head upstairs.

"Good morning!" Lynette greeted warmly as Cameron entered the room.

Cameron smiled back at her. "I see you're up and about. How are we feeling this morning?"

"Fine, but I..." Lynette paused.

"What?" Cameron asked.

Before Lynette could answer, Cameron's question was answered by a loud groaning and growling sound. This sound, of course, came from Lynette's stomach.

"Ah, _I see_."

"Sorry..." she said with a blush.

"What?" he said with a small laugh. "Being hungry is nothing to be ashamed of."

Lynette put her hand on her stomach.

"I'll tell you what. As soon as I get you home, I'll argue the case for you to raid the nearest fridge. If you are dispatched after some sort of threat, I'll take your place for the time being."

"But you're not enlisted! Besides, I'm a marksman!"

A quizzical expression crossed Cameron's face. "I noticed that."

"Yes. However, I'm not concerned because our base has an armory. The only annoyance is having to calibrate the rifle each time it is replaced."

"That _would_ be annoying..." Cameron said in agreement. "What sort of rifle do you fight with?"

"A point-five-five inch Boys Anti-Tank Rifle."

"Ah... what?"

"A Boys Anti-Tank Rifle."

Cameron stood silently for a few moments, his mouth agape. After a few seconds, he put his hands on her shoulders.

"Lynette... I _envy _you," he said weakly.

"Why exactly?"

"I've wanted to get my hands on a Boys rifle for a _very_ long time, for it is the first gun I ever fired," he explained. "It gives me fond memories, though I did throw my shoulder out."

Lynette stared at him with shock. "Your first rifle?"

"Why yes," he said with a chuckle. "After awhile, I finally got used to the gun."

"God... that's... that's surprising," she said as she brushed his hands from her shoulders. "Especially given your stature."

Cameron grinned. "Does it really surprise you that much?"

"Well..." she said. Before she could finish, her stomach groaned again.

"Heh, you _are _hungry. Well then Lynette, I'll get the plane in order and see if we can get off the ground soon."

Before she could stop him, Cameron disappeared through the door and down the stairs. Lynette felt nauseated; a combination feeling of butterflies and hunger. After a few seconds, she quietly strode to the desk and sat down.

Cameron was now in the hangar, turning on the avionics and adjusting the radios of his Spitfire again. When all was finished, he then left the cockpit and went to a corner of the hangar beneath the stairway. This place was where he had placed the devices both Lynette and Perrine had been using the previous day and night. The devices now laid on an elderly workbench, one in good condition, the other damaged with bits of aluminum shrapnel sticking out one end. Cameron decided to test the weight of one of the units, starting with Lynette's damaged one.

"Wow, they're still pretty heavy... but they're lighter than I expected."

He then took up the unit, and carried it to his aircraft. As he came closer and closer, an odd feeling caused him to stop in his tracks.

"Hey... wait a second," he said to himself.

Cameron began to compare the plane and the device in his arms. The more he looked, the more he found himself holding an elongated miniature of the larger plane in front of him. Finally realizing this, he sighed.

"I don't know if this is aviator's heaven, or if I'm just higher than a kite."

He then crawled under the aircraft, and looked at the underside. Finding a corner where the wing met the fuselage, he placed the device under the aircraft, and returned for the other one.

At this time, Perrine was now awake. She paced the room like a caged tiger, impatient as to when their departure would arrive. She padded her way across the room, back and forth in an endless circut.

"Perrine," Lynette said. "We're not going to leave any sooner. You should sit down."

"I know... it's just that I'm concerned about what the others are thinking. They're probably all up in arms right now about our disappearance."

Lynette nodded in agreement. Perrine continued to pace the room as Lynette began to gather up the blankets. The heat of the fire had died away, and Lynette began to shiver slightly.

"It's cold in here."

She went to where Cameron had been laying to put her uniform on. To her surprise, his remained and hers was nowhere to be found. She searched the desk and the floor, but found it was no longer in the room.

"What are you looking for Lynette?"

"My uniform. I can't find it anywhere."

"Maybe Cameron has it."

"Probably," she finished as she picked up the uniform and shrugged into it.

"What are you doing?" Perrine asked.

"I'm cold, and he left his uniform here. I'm not going downstairs in just my shirt and vest."

At the same time, Cameron began to notice something different about his clothing. At first the feeling was faint, a change in smell, something unfamiliar. He continued to ignore the feeling, working with the devices he had carried to his plane. Eventually, however, he stopped when he noticed his sleeves had changed color from mustard green to blue black.

"No way..." he uttered in surprise.

Rising to his feet, he eyed the sleeves and the rest of the uniform. He had mistakenly grabbed Lynette's uniform when he had awoken that morning, and was quite surprised that he hadn't noticed the mistake until that moment. He checked the fit once more, and sighed.

"It fits me well... they must not have tailored these for women to wear," he said to himself.

Cameron shrugged his shoulders in indifference, and returned to work on the plane. Once the devices were ready, he returned to the workbench and acquired three lengths of rope. At the base of each wing, he tied the devices on and hoisted them up until they were snug against the skin of the plane, like a bomb payload. He then took the third length, and tied the two other lengths together to keep the ropes taught. Once he rose to his feet again, he checked the sleeves of the uniform and was glad to find that he hadn't dirtied them. He became bored, and began to sing quietly to himself.

_"My baby, she comes out at night, she taking me by surprise, she's my baby."_

He continued to work on the plane, humming songs and singing some of their parts. At one point, he hopped into the cockpit and worked the flight surfaces. Luckily, the load didn't interrupt the movement of the ailerons on the wings and the plane was still controllable.

_"__Well, she's a baby in the morning time when the sleep is in her eyes and the world is waking up, she has a rhythm, oh, believe me, I ain't lying, she's a woman."_

Lynette began to descend the stairs again, and listened as the ailerons squeaked with movement. She also snuck downstairs, and quietly came up behind Cameron as he continued to sing.

_"She's a lady in the evening tide, when the stars are in the skies, that's the time she changes back into a kitten, oh, believe me, I ain't lying."_

She was now behind Cameron, who was standing on the wing of the plane staring at the sunrise. Lynette crept closer, until she was about a foot from where he stood on the wing. As he continued on, she reached up and grabbed his ankles, shaking them.

_"She's my baby, she comes out at night, she's taking me by...GAH!"_ he shouted in surprise.

"I see you're enjoying my uniform!"

Cameron began to stumble. "Hey! You're gonna make me fall!" he said as he neared the edge of the wing.

It was too late. He stumbled over the edge, and fell in a heap on top of Lynette, who squeaked with surprise. The two groaned as they lay on the floor of the hangar.

"That's... it," Cameron groaned has he rose to his feet, turning around.

"Ouch," Lynette said as she rubbed the back of her head.

She noticed a shadow passing over her and looked up. Cameron was hunched over, reaching for her torso and legs.

"What are you..." she muttered.

Before she could react, Cameron had reached under her torso and between her long, soft legs. Rising to his feet, he held her haphazardly with one of her legs hanging wildly out in space, the other in the air, and Lynette uncomfortably leaning sideways.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"You're going to learn _a lesson_," he said as he carried her to the hangar door.

"Watch where you're reaching! No! Bad place! Ah!" she shouted as she struggled, blushing as she tried to clamp her legs together.

"Thank you for flying with BOAC! Mind the gap!" Cameron shouted.

"Noooooooooooooo!"

He then hoisted her up, and tossed her out into the deep snow. She yelped as she flew, uselsessly flailing her arms and legs as she disappeared into a snowdrift. She eventually rose to her feet, to find Cameron cackling like a demon.

"Serves you right!" he shouted, laughing.

Cameron had unknowingly made a _very_ big mistake. As he hunched over, laughing until he hurt, Lynette began to glow. She sprouted her ears and tail, still unnoticed by Cameron, and began to pack snow together in her hands.

"Oooiiii! Looky here you lil' twit!"

"Eh?" he croaked as he wiped his eyes.

In the few seconds that followed, he watched as Lynette's arm flew forward like lightning. In almost slow motion, a white object left the palm of her hand, slowly spinning as it traveled through the air. The object was surrounded by the same blue energy as Lynette, and made a slight arc in his direction.

The snowball made a loud 'THWACK' as it hit Cameron square in the face.

It was now Lynette's turn to laugh, which she did loudly until she became hoarse. She fell to her knees in the cold snow as Cameron fell flat on his back, stunned.

"Oh... yeah... I forgot she's... the marksman..."

At that point, Perrine rounded the wing of the plane. She looked down upon Cameron, raising her eyebrow. She then looked to Lynette who was still laughing.

"Hmm... you nailed him good."

A few minutes later, Cameron drunkenly rose to his feet. The girls had disappeared from view, and he looked around for them. He massaged his face as best he could, trying to return the warmth to it, finding to his surprise, he was still wearing Lynette's uniform which was now dusty around the sleeves and collar. He removed the uniform, and shook it hard enough to make it snap in the air. As he watched the thick fabric flutter, he noticed something fly out of one of the pockets. He stopped, and after hanging the uniform on a propeller blade he went to retrieve the object that had come free.

"What is this?"

What Cameron found was a tangle of steel and gold chains. With care, he untangled the mess to reveal two items; Lynette's dogtag and a locket. He noticed an inscription on the locket, and squinted to read it.

"To my..." he mumbled. "To the joy of our lives, our daughter Lynette."

Looking around, he popped the catch on the locket. The locket was much like something two lovers would have, on one side would be the picture of the woman in the relationship, the other side would be reserved for the man. These pictures, however, caused Cameron to stare silently for a few moments. He took in every detail, noting every characteristic and racking his brains. Eventually, after a few minutes pause, he knew exactly who he was looking at.

"I'll be good god damned!" he said, dumbfounded. "That's William Avery Bishop, the Canadian ace of the First World War!"

His heart pounding, he snapped the locket shut. He returned the gold piece to the pocket it came from, along with the dogtag. He then fastened the button, and shrugged into the uniform.

"Ah, you're awake," Lynette said as she came down the stairs. "Did you call me?"

Cameron glanced to the stairway. "Ah, no! I was just thinking of something."

"Ah, I see. While you were out, we packed everything back into the plane, and I put your iPod along with the speakers and earbuds in the pocket of your uniform."

Cameron nodded. "Thank you. Speaking of which, do you want yours back?"

"Eventually."

He nodded once more, and got down on his knees. He crawled beneath the Spitfire, checking his handiwork with the ropes, and was satisfied that the load had not come loose. After he was finished pulling on the knots to tighten them, Cameron came out on the other side of the fuselage. Lynette was on the other side to greet him.

"Hey Lynette, I noticed as you beaned me with that block of ice that it was glowing blue."

"Yes?"

"What was that?"

Lynette began to giggle. "It's just magic! I'm surprised, seeing that we're so commonplace now, that you don't recognize a witch at first sight."

"Witch?"

"Yes. I am a Witch."

Cameron stared curiously at her. "Well, nothing here surprises me anymore," he said as he hopped on the wing of the fighter. "With that damned snowball, I can safely say that you _most certainly are_ a witch_._"

He opened the canopy, and dropped into the pilot's seat. He worked the rudder and ailerons, and checked the elevator flaps. Seeing all was in order, he leaned out of the canopy and called to Lynette.

"Are you ready to go?"

"You mean right now?"

"Yes?"

Lynette ran for the stairs. "Let me tell Perrine!"

As she disappeared up the stairs, Cameron began to switch on the avionics and controls. When he was ready, he waited for Lynette to return before starting the prop. A few moments later Lynette reappeared leading Perrine down the stairs, both girls approaching the plane to speak with Cameron.

"Alright," Perrine said as she pointed toward the hangar door. "I'll go up first, and you'll follow. It's a ways to the coast from here, but eventually we'll get there. I'll be flying on our fixed frequency 105.75 if you can tune to that on your radio."

Cameron nodded. "Got it. See you in the air in a few moments."

Perrine quickly disappeared to ready the devices with which she flew. This now left Lynette and Cameron staring blankly at each other, one sitting in a cockpit, the other on the ground.

"You flew one of these as a trainer you said?"

"Yes."

"Okay then. I'll do the takeoff, and you do the flying, okay Lynette?"

"Yes, I'd be glad to!" she exclaimed, her face lit up with joy.

With that, she promptly bound onto the wing and into the cockpit, plopping down in the seat next to Cameron. It was a tight fit, both of them sitting side-by-side, with half of Lynne's back resting on Cameron's chest. Before Cameron could close the canopy, Lynne had already done it for him. She herself began to go through the brief checklist to starting the aircraft.

"Flaps... set, avionics... on, lights on, we're all set. Contact," she uttered as she turned the key in the ignition.

The engine whirred and tapped, and soon the blades were spinning. After a few moments, the engine had idled back, and had settled into a steady and powerful roar. Lynette continued to monitor the gauges.

"Hey Lynette," Cameron asked. "You might want to turn on the de-icing switch. It's still pretty cold out."

Without a word, she flipped the switch. After the start was complete, she sighed and made herself comfortable, letting her hand drop from the flight yoke.

"Alright. You do the takeoff."

"Okay," Cameron said as he reached under her arm for the stick.

He set the flaps lever, and listened as they descended into place. Giving his controls a final test, he then glanced one more time over the nose of the aircraft.

"Oh dear Jesus god, I forgot about the runway."

At that moment Perrine roared up from behind them, shooting out, up, and away from the hangar. Cameron slowly urged the throttle forward, starting the Spitfire into a roll. It had barely begun to gain speed when it bumped into the wall of snow at the hangar doors. He shoved the throttle up another notch, and nothing happened. His heart began to sink.

"Ah, Lynette?" he said slowly. "You wouldn't happen to have anything to remedy this, would you?"

She looked as best she could over the canopy, taking in the deep snow and its drifts. She sat and thought as the plane continued to roar. A few seconds later, she snapped her fingers.

"Aha! I'll just put a shield down."

Before Cameron could ask, Lynette sprouted her ears, and this time her tail. Cameron noticed the underside of the aircraft beginning to glow blue, and he jumped when the plane began to shift up and over its current obstacle.

"Lynette, what are you..."

"Just take off!" she interrupted.

Without a word, Cameron reached for the flight yoke, and jammed the throttle forward. The engine rose to a blasting, unnerving roar as the aircraft began to slide and bounce over the drifts. He watched the airspeed needles climb on the appropriate dials, and watched the trees at the end of the runway draw closer and closer. Eventually, he took in a breath and pulled back on the stick.

"Pulling up, hang on!"

The plane easily came free of the snowbound runway, and began to ascend rapidly. They hopped over the wall of trees with many feet to spare, and continued to climb as they flew on. After the plane had climbed to an altitude of 1500 feet, Lynette sighed with content, her job complete.

"Alright Lynette, here's the controls," Cameron said as he passed her the yoke. "I'll pull the gear and flaps in. If you can, settle the girl down to a cruise speed so we can save fuel."

She nodded in response. "Thanks. Oh, and if you want to... call me Lynne."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note- I've been coming along on this story, don't any of you worry! I'm glad that this chapter is up. I have a sequel to this story planned, and I hope that you all will enjoy it. First order of business however, is this one, so I'll try not to keep you all waiting.**

Through the Storm

Chapter 4-

Cameron chuckled. "Will do, Lynne."

Lynne settled in for the flight, and pulled the throttle back as Cameron pulled in the landing gear and flaps. A few minutes time found the Spitfire roaring through the sky at a stately two-hundred fifty knots; a cruise well below the average speed of three-hundred twelve at sea level. Lynne began to make herself comfortable by stretching, popping the joints in her neck, and snuggling back against Cameron. He, in the meantime, switched on the radio and tuned in to the frequency Perrine had given him.

"Oi, Perrine!" he called over the radio. "Where'd you go? We lost you."

"I'm about a thousand feet above you," she replied after a few seconds pause. "I'll come down to your altitude."

The radio then went silent. Cameron listened intently, and gradually began to hear a loud buzzing sound a few feet above him. He brought his gaze up to find Perrine descending toward the plane, a rifle slung across her back, her body laying horizontally as it blasted forward. Cameron watched with amazement as she approached his aircraft, floating only inches from the wings as her uniform fluttered in the wind.

"My god, isn't it cold out there?" he exclaimed over the radio.

Perrine knocked on the canopy, smiling and waving.

"Not really," she replied. "You get used to it after awhile."

She circled around the fuselage of the plane, while Lynne kept the craft on a steady course. Below the plane, the wooded area began to thin, being replaced by dry shore grasses and meadow. Through the scenery, the occasional boulder would poke up through the foliage. Cameron gazed with reverence, feeling completely at home where he sat.

"I love going to the coast," he said to Lynette. "I always go to the cliffs and drop over them. It's always quite the rush!"

Lynette nodded. "Well, I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that that's where we're headed."

Cameron smiled. "That's wonderful," he said in a warm tone.

He gave Lynette a pat on the shoulder, and then began to fiddle with a container next to the seat. Lynne simply stared through the canopy as the fighter continued to blast on, coming nearer and nearer to the coast. Cameron began to sort through the container's contents, until he withdrew a navigation map which he carefully unfurled to reveal a map of the British Isles. Scanning the coastline, he approximated their position at the southern end, near Southampton.

"Hey Lynne," he said tapping a spot on the map. "If you're not too engaged in what you're doing, you'd say we're about... here, right?"

She glanced at the map, and traced her finger a few inches.

"Ah, yes. We'll be passing over Southampton and landing at Westhampnett," she said firmly. "I have some friends there that can get us on our way, if they're still stationed there that is..."

"...and they are?" Cameron said questioningly.

"County of Chester, Squadron six-ten."

"Sounds like a nice lot," he said as he folded up the map.

The plane continued on for a few hours more, while Cameron watched the clouds shift around the plane; the wings giving the occasional dip and jerk with the crosswinds off the ocean. He stared out of the canopy for awhile, watching whilst the cityscapes and row houses of Southampton began to thin to farms and fields. He failed to notice his eyes beginning to droop, lulled by the steady pressure and roar of the engine. It was an hour later that he began to doze off, his head nodding and his eyes fluttering. He had run out of energy.

"Alright Cameron," she said after an additional half-hour. "Can you give me the radio? I need to let everyone know that we're coming in."

Before he could reply, it was at that moment Cameron finally fell asleep, his chin bumping her shoulder. Lynne glanced back with surprise.

"Cameron?" she asked as she nudged him.

She recieved no response, and tried many times over to awaken him. To her dismay, she realized he was in a dead slumber.

"Damn," she uttered under her breath.

Accepting defeat, Lynne turned her attention forward. By landmarks, she knew their destination was only a few hours away, and so began their descent from four-thousand feet to two-thousand. She scanned the horizon, staring intently at the hills of rocks and seagrass as she searched for the airfield.

"C'mon, where the hell are you?"

After a few minutes time, a distant streak of dark earth revealed itself. The runway in the distance appeared like a scratch of dirt, lined by hangars and outbuildings like shoeboxes on a countertop; coming nearer and nearer as she watched. Scanning the runway for any inbound or outbound aircraft, she flipped on the landing lights and navigationals.

Meanwhile, at the distant airfield, a glint of light caught the attention of a man in the control tower. Seconds before having had his feet on the counter and reading a book, he had now snapped the text closed and was staring with a bored expression through the windows, knowing that no flights had been cleared to land. He arose from his seat, and picked up a pair of binoculars on an adjacent table.

Lynne was now seven miles from the strip of packed earth. Checking her instruments, she proceeded to lower the landing gear and flaps, and tried to nudge Cameron again. This again went unacknowledged. At this point Lynne let the nose drop, letting the plane down to an altitude of one-thousand five-hundred feet. Perrine followed suit.

By then, the controller had found the Spitfire with his binoculars, and adjusted the zoom. He watched the craft drop in altitude, with an intention to land without permission, and angrily groped for the warning lamp to shoo the plane off. Before he could flip the lamp on, another object came into view.

"What in the hell?" he said to noone in particular. "I'ssat... a witch?"

He adjusted the lenses, and stared intently at the distant craft. Something appeared to be amiss, and so, at that point, the man promptly dropped the scopes and instead moved to a nearby microphone.

"Attention all personnel!" a Cockney accent spouted over the loudspeaker. "We've gotta' plane comin' in, running on radio silence, possible witch or plane in distress. Keep lorries on standby."

He watched as men began to scurry across the runway, checking for aircraft and items, while others rushed to a nearby garage. The rolling doors were then thrown open by groups of three men, to reveal black emergency trucks waiting behind the doors. Someone in another building activated the runway lights, and an eventual group formed at the sides of the runway to watch the plane land.

"Good, all's in order," the controller said as he moved to the code lamp.

Lynne was surprised to see the runway light up, her position currently three miles off. From the control tower, she noticed a green lamp flashing in her direction, clearing for emergency landing.

"Oh thank god!" she uttered.

The men on the ground watched as the fighter drew nearer, seemingly unscathed, wings rocking slightly in the crosswinds. The witch they assumed was accompanying the plane followed up close behind, hanging back behind the tail as the craft came closer and closer to the runway. When the plane reached the threshold of the runway, the pilot idled down, and lowered full flaps as they descended toward the ground. With a pull on the stick, they accidentally stalled the plane, causing it to come to a bouncing touchdown.

"Aww, damnit! Don't do this to me!" Lynne cursed.

Upon the first bounce of the landing, Cameron jerked awake. Breathlessly, he watched Lynne balance the plane with a hold of the differential brakes, carefully lowering the tail to the ground.

"Oh god," he gasped. "I fell asleep! I'm so sorry Lynne!"

The plane came to a stop in the middle of the runway, with Perrine landing next to it. A small squad of men rushed the aircraft, hauling a stretcher and emergency equipment. The others on the sides of the runway watched silently as the canopy slid open and the engine shut down.

"Stand aside!" one of them shouted. "What happened? Is anyone injured?"

"No, we're fine!" a female voice weakly grunted from the fighter as the group neared the wing. "Harry, is that you?"

"What in blazes?" he shouted. "Lynne?"

"Hang on a second," another voice called from the plane. "I think her legs fell asleep!"

Cameron looked at the throng of men approaching his plane.

"Well, you've got company!" he said with a stifled yawn.

Lynette laughed. "They know me well, and oh boy have they missed me," she said as she struggled to rise. "Ah, Cameron?"

"Yes?"

"Can you lift me out? I can hardly use my legs."

"Certainly," he said as he began to rise.

The crowd on the outskirts of the runway had heard the voice. As a result, they began to crowd in on the plane out of curiosity, taking care to avoid the still spinning prop blades. After a few seconds pause, all watched with awe as a young man in an RAF uniform rose to his feet in the cockpit of the plane. In his arms, he cradled a beautiful girl wearing a green "Liberion Army" uniform by her legs behind the knees, giving support to her back. She in turn had her arms wrapped around his neck to avoid falling.

"Hey lads!" the teen called out. "I believe this belongs to you!"

"Oi, iss Lynette!" a voice called out.

Her name murmured through the crowd as Cameron stepped onto the wing. The men with the stretcher backed away as Cameron clumsily stepped to the ground.

"Gentlemen," he asked. "Where would a lady be able to find a hot drink?"

Cameron grinned as a few stumbled for words. One of the men, who was tall with his hair combed back, promptly stepped forward.

"Harry is it?"

"Y-yes!"

"Where's your mess hall my friend?"

"Ah, yes, just this way!" he said hurriedly as he pushed through the crowd. Cameron followed after him, still carrying Lynette.

"Move aside, move aside! We're trying to get to the mess hall here!"

The crowd quickly parted, and men pressed on both sides like fans at a red carpet. Some said unintelligible things, while others cheered. Another man stepped forward, who wore a heavy blue jumpsuit which was streaked with grease.

"Hello there!" he said giving Cameron a rough pat on the shoulder. "Th' name's James Ireland. I'm the armorer."

"James!" Lynne exclaimed as Cameron came to a stop. "How are you doing?"

"Simply wonderful! And how are you my fair lady?"

"The same here," she replied with a smile. "Cameron, I want you to meet James Ireland, our group's armorer."

Cameron shifted his weight. "Ah, you're just the kind of gentleman I'd need to see about my _arma-ments_. Can you join us in the mess?"

"Sure thing," Ireland replied as he scurried off. "I'll be with you in a few moments."

Giving Lynne a shift in his arms, Cameron continued on after the man named Harry. Weaving his way through the crowd, he eventually found himself standing in front of an aircraft hangar.

"We've set up a makeshift shop here," Harry said. "It may be chilly outside here, but it's nice n' toasty inside with the stoves and the rest of the heat. Sometimes we're stuck eating on the wings of the Spitfires though."

"Sounds like my kind of table!" Cameron said with a laugh.

Harry then pulled the door open, holding it with one hand, while he gave a dramatic gesture with the other.

"Welcome to our... humble establishment," he said jokingly.

Cameron stepped into the hangar, only to be hit with a blast of warm air. He began to sweat in the uniform, and hurried inside.

"Well Lynne," Cameron said with a laugh. "I'd do just fine if we were married, seeing as I've carried you over the threshold and thensome!"

Lynne raised an eyebrow. "You had best be joking, Cameron," she said sternly.

"Maybe I'm not, and maybe I am," he said with a grin. "Let me find you a seat so you don't wind up on the floor."

Scanning the room, he found a few aircraft parked in the hangar. At the center of the hangar counters had been set up, and tables were scattered by the various parking spots. The aroma of sweets wafted through the room, making Cameron weak in the knees.

"My god, my folks said the Brits couldn't cook!" he said to Lynne with amazement. "Someone must've been speaking out of where the sun doesn't shine."

He finally spotted a seat near the counter; a thick armchair. With a quick trot over, he gently settled Lynette into the seat and made sure she was comfortable.

"Thank you," she said as she drew in a deep pull of the air around her. "Oh my, it smells like the recipe I handed off before I went to Dover!"

Cameron smelled the air as well. "Cinnamon! I don't know why, but the smell fits _you... and _what's cooking," he said as he found a seat adjacent to the armchair.

Before she could reply, the door of the hangar banged open, causing the two of them to glance in that direction. The armorer, James Ireland, came blasting through the door as he ran for the makeshift kitchen.

"I hope I didn't leave it in for too long!" he said breathlessly.

Coming to a skidding halt in front of a stove, he yanked the front open and reached in bare-handed. He then withdrew a glass cake pan, with a fully-risen cake inside. Through the glass, Cameron could see waves of grey and brown, smoothly making a design similar to smoke. Unconsciously, he began to drool. Lynette's stomach growled loudly.

"Dear god, it smells divine! What did Lynne come up with?"

Ireland laughed as he shut off the oven. "It's merely her cinnamon sponge cake. You have to get it just perfect though for the vanilla and cinnamon to blend. Too little, and you're eating unflavored cotton candy. Too much, however, and you have a spiteful taste of cinnamon which makes the cake inedible to all but a select few. It goes good with a cup o' coffee."

"And it smells like you've gotten it perfect!" Lynette replied. "Good lord I'm hungry for anything."

Ireland nodded. "There's coffee on the stove here, if one of you wants a cup."

"I'll get it," Cameron said as he rose to his feet.

He rounded the corner of the counter, and noticed the door to the hangar open again. A few of the men from earlier began to shuffle inside, and only came closer faster with the smell of the cake. As Cameron poured the two steaming cups of coffee, Ireland turned to him with a smile.

"Say, I never did catch your name. You are?"

"Cameron Taylor."

"Ah, it's nice to meet you," he said as he gave a handshake. "Where did you and Lynne come from by the way?"

"We were stranded in the woods," he began. "We had to stay the night together in an old hangar, probably built around the time of the Great War. One hell of a snowstorm blew in, and it looks like the damned thing is making it's way here as well."

James nodded. "I see. How'd you wind up in that situation anyway?"

Cameron had rounded the other end of the counter, and handed Lynne the cup on a saucer.

"Hold that thought James," he said as he faced Lynette. "Cream and sugar?"

"Cream, if you would please."

Cameron scurried off for the pitcher of coffee cream and a spoon, continuing the conversation with the armorer.

"Well," he said as he searched for a refrigerator, "she was fighting... some sort of... thing. She calls it a neuroi?" he said as he rose from an icebox that held the cream.

"Another one?" he said with a gasp. "I thought that the hive in Gallia got wiped out!"

Cameron nodded. "It was a big sonofabitch too; fast mover. The thing fired off a round and detonated the clip on her rifle," he said as he tip-toed around the bulk of the story.

"Oh my..." Ireland said with dismay. "I guess these things happen."

Cameron nodded in denial. "Like hell they do. You're lucky she's even here! She went plummeting off into the woods after that, and probably would have been impaled on the forest below."

"What?"

"Yeah!" Cameron continued as he poured Lynette's cream and handed her a spoon. "I look off, and I see this looooong, greasy black streak disappearing below me. It was interesting flying when I went after her."

Ireland had dished up three plates of the cake, and handed two of them off with forks. Drawing up a third chair, he joined the two of them.

"Please, continue!" he said as he took a bite and a sip of coffee.

"Well, I idled down right? I put the nose down, and started in after her," he said as he made an arc with his hand. "She's about here, flailing her arms about and such. I let the thing just fall, and pulled closer and closer to her," he said as he brought his hands together.

"How'd you catch her?" Ireland said with concern.

"Well, I get about here, and popped the canopy open. I'm surprised it didn't get ripped off. I pulled the nose up, and put an arm around her."

Ireland beamed. "You're one hell of a pilot. We would've all been devistated if Lynne were to die."

Lynne giggled from where she sat. "Oh James, you've always been like a mother hen, getting your feathers ruffled when you're worried about me."

"Oh yeah?" he said with a snort. "Well this chicken can fly!"

"I'd like to see the day."

This was met with a murmur of laughter behind the trio.

"I almost forgot about our audience," Cameron said as he rose to address the crowd. "What's your business?"

"Ah, that's your plane right? With the striker units strapped onto the bottom?"

"Yes?"

"We figured it out, and would like to know if we should wheel her in here for the night."

Cameron shook his head. "Nah, we'll be heading on our way to Dover rather shortly. We hoped to get out ahead of the storm, and before dark."

The men shook their heads. "You're a bit too late for that, lad. The bastard's blown in already, and it's dark if you haven't noticed."

Cameron glanced up at the glass panels that lined the top of the hangar doors. These were cast black by the skies above.

"Damn. I... sure, just don't get her mixed up with these others."

Ireland laughed. "Sh'ant be a problem. Yours is the only one sporting a blue nose."

Cameron nodded. "Okay then. Say... what brought you folks in here anyway?"

The question was briefly answered as the door to the hangar was flung open again. Ireland dismally stared at it, watching as Perrine burst into the hangar.

"I'll have to fix the damned door again if this keeps up."

Perrine pushed through the crowd, coming to a stop in the center of the three chairs. She bore a scowl which clearly displayed her hot fury.

"You IDIOT! You just disappear when we touch down, not even giving a thought of my presence! After that, you just leave me to look after the plane? It was all I could do to get these people together to roll it into the hangar for tonight!"

Cameron leaned out of his chair, staring at the crowd behind Perrine. "She didn't drive you up the wall did she?"

They silently nodded.

"Oh, nobody needed your opinion anyway!" she spat at them as Cameron rose to his feet.

"Perrine! Knock it off. That's rude, treating our hosts in such a manner. Sit down and eat already, I'll deal with it," he finished as he rose to his feet.

"Cameron, your food!" Lynette said worriedly.

"That's my fault," he said smiling. "I'll be back in a moment, okay? If we're staying here, we need to discuss bedding arrangements."

"Oh..." Lynette said quietly. "Okay, just join us as soon as possible, alright?"

Cameron bowed. "You have my word, my dear," he said as he left with the group of men, Perrine snapping at his heels.

Once the door to the hangar closed, Lynette and James sat alone. The chill fingers of the icy winds that had followed the Spitfire had begun to move the doors, causing them to sigh and knock as they shifted. The armorer smiled as he poked down another piece of the cake, and took a sip of his coffee.

"He has eyes for you."

Lynne promptly set her cup on the saucer sitting on the arm of the chair. "Excuse me?"

"I said," he muttered as he sipped the brew, "that that lad has eyes for you."

Lynette blushed. "Why? Does that concern you?"

Ireland shook his head. "I wouldn't trust anyone more, seeing how he's taken care of you."

"But it's only been a few days. I don't know his personality, mannerisms, or how he lives. How can you tell so suddenly?"

The man stood up laughing, walking to the other side of the counter. "I can tell in the way he looks, acts, speaks, and treats you. He moves about well too. Does he dance?"

Lynne gasped. "Oh goodness yes! It's as though he was born with the ability."

"And you learned how in the halls back in London," James added as he returned to his seat.

Lynne smiled, taking another sip of her coffee. Her stomach was now full, and she had become sleepy despite the coffee. She soon found herself beginning to nod off much in the same way Cameron had during the landing. Ireland took note, and began to laugh.

"Are you feeling alright Lynne? You're looking a bit sleepy."

"No," she said with a teary-eyed yawn, drawing her legs up into the chair. "I'm... fine."

The both of them jumped when the hangar doors sounded with a resonating bang. Ireland jumped to his feet.

"That's the bolt on the doors. You better hunker down, there's going to be one hell of a wind coming in here!" he said as he hurriedly secured any loose items in the kitchen.

The doors began to squeal on the rollers, thundering open as groups of three men pushed them open in the same way as with the garage. Snow, blizzard, ice, and cold sucked the warmth from the building almost instantly, causing Lynette to gasp as a reflex. In the pitch black outside, she saw the outline of the plane she had landed prior, tail first. More people were in front and situated on the landing gear, pushing the aircraft inside.

"Heave!" shouted a familiar voice.

The plane slowly rolled through the half-foot of snow that had accumulated, until the tailwheel came free on the hangar floor. Men slipped and fell into the snow as they pushed the fighter inside. The tail came closer and closer to the temporary kitchen, until it was stationed about a foot away from the nearest countertop and came to a stop. Cameron came around, covered with snow as he chalked up the wheels. Staring at him, Lynette almost swore she saw frost on the shoulders of her uniform. More men shouted, and soon the hangar doors thundered shut. Lights flashed around the room as the overhead lamps swung from their mountings. With a bang, they sealed the doors with the large bolt. An inch of snow had accumulated in the short time the door had been opened.

"My god!" the armorer said, dumbfounded. "I haven't seen a storm like that in a long time!"

Lynette shivered. "It's the w-weather we b-brought along on our trip," she stammered.

Cameron came around the wing of the plane, dusting the snow off of Lynette's uniform.

"Sorry about that, did we crash your party?"

"Oh, no! It's fine. It'll just take awhile to warm up again," James said with his hands up.

Perrine came around on the other side, also dusting the snow off. "You can hardly see anything out there! It's a cold hell out there, I can guarantee you that."

Cameron nodded. "You'll probably wind up with a lesser depth of snow than we had, and this'll leave dry patches on your runway," he said as he came near the ring of chairs to sit down.

"Oh, I forgot my reservation," he said upon noticing the seats were filled.

He looked around, and noticed Lynne still shaking in her seat. Without a word, he smiled at her as he approached the compartment in the tail of his plane. Perrine, now sitting in Cameron's seat, glanced at the cake on the counter.

"What is that? It smells wonderful!"

"It's a Cinnamon Sponge cake; Lynne's recipe."

Cameron listened as Perrine and the others devoured more of the cake. He had pulled out the same blankets as before, and quickly shut the compartment. All three glanced in his direction when he came around with the armload.

"Anyone a taker?" he asked.

With a nod, both girls took the blankets and wrapped them tightly around their bodies. Lynette continued to shiver where she sat.

"I was so comfortable. I can't stand cold shocks like this," she said through chattering teeth.

Cameron reached up, and hung Lynette's damp uniform on the tail of his plane like a coatrack. He then turned, and stood in the middle of the ring of seats.

"Want me to ah... join you?" Cameron asked slowly.

"Please, do! I'm bloody freezing!" Lynette said as she threw the blanket open over an arm of the chair.

Cameron settled into place, and brought the blanket over the both of them. He then reached under the blanket, and pulled one of Lynette's soft hands free. As he sandwiched her right hand between his own two, he noticed that her skin was stiff, dry, and cold.

"Good god, you really are cold."

"I'm surprised your hands are so warm," she said as she made herself comfortable.

Ireland stared at the pair incredulously. "My, my, aren't we friendly now?" he muttered.

Perrine furrowed her brow at the couple. "You're lucky we aren't home right now. We have rules against the witches being involved in fraternization with the opposite sex."

"Hah! It's merely a _survival_ technique. We are simply sharing body heat to keep warm," he guffawed.

"Hmph," Perrine grunted in reply.

As the two continued to sit together, Cameron felt Lynne rest her head on his shoulder. Every once in awhile, she'd move to make herself comfortable. He simply took it in stride.

"Now, seeing as everyone is as happy or decisively annoyed as they wish to be, I'd like to move on to a more... serious business. This involves you James."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I've been concerned ever since an... accident that occured while I was with Lynne back in the woods. I have 20 millimeter guns, but they're all filled with paint."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, pardon the expression," he said in understanding. "They are filled with 'paint shells,' if you've ever seen anything like that before. Utterly useless against what attacked Lynne."

"Oh, you want me to change your load?" Ireland asked.

"Yes. Arm all of her guns, if you would. I assume that everyone is either using incindiary or armor-piercing rounds, correct?"

"Well, yes and no," the armorer objected. "Right now, the only thing that can kill them is a good 'bewitching.'"

"Which is where the 501st comes in, correct?"

"Yes! However, if one were to handle the plane correctly, and have some sort of defence, I'm sure you could take one of those things down."

"My thought as well. I know that you can do it, but my question is how much it will cost."

"Nothing."

"What?"

"It will cost absolutely nothing, other than the falsification of a few armory records. That, and the fact that Lynne was a favorite of the CO, who's currently stranded in Southampton. We'd do anything to assure that Lynne makes it through her service life. If that means screwing around, we'll do it."

Cameron nodded. "You're the kind of people you'd write into a will. You're a hell of a bunch, good through and through."

"Thanks. We do what we can," he said as he glanced at his watch. "My god, it's eleven!"

"Really?" Cameron replied as he raised an eyebrow.

"Yes really," the man said as he jumped to his feet. "You three need to get to bed!"

"Ah, I almost forgot," Cameron said lazily as he stretched. "Do you have any sort of sleeping arrangements available?"

Ireland looked away in thought, with his hand on his chin. "Now that I think about it... I don't believe we have any."

"Not a single bed?"

He shook his head. "Nope. The CO's quarters are locked as well, and he took his keys with him."

"Ugh," Cameron said as he drew his right hand over his face. "That's too bad. Are your cots taken?"

The armorer nodded silently.

"Hmm. Let me think for a second," Cameron said, letting his eyes begin to wander.

He looked over the tables, but most were small, and round. The room was warm, and comfortable, and the preferred place to bed down for the night. Knowing this, he continued to gaze about, until he focused on one of the Spitfires.

"Hey James?"

"Mmmhm?"

"I want you to try something. Get onto the wing of my plane here," he motioned with a free hand.

"Okay..." the amorer said as he clambered on. "Now what?"

"I want you to lay down, and snuggle up against the wing mounting."

Nodding, James sat down on the wing, and lay on his back. He then did as instructed, putting his back into the smooth curve of where the wing was mounted to the aircraft.

"Comfy?" Cameron asked after a few seconds.

The armorer nodded. "Surprisingly enough, yes. It's a bit steep though, seeing as her tail is down."

"We can remedy that by propping up the tail. I've wanted to try this for awhile."

"Yeah, it's actually kind of nice. Prop up the tail, add some bedding and those blankets of yours, and you've got quite the bed," he said as he slid off of the wing.

Cameron smiled. "It's settled then. You get the bedding, and I'll prop the tail up. Got a jack?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note- Well look at that! The previous chapter neared the same amount as chapter two! I think five-thousand words is a good average for these chapters, so I'll at least get to three-thousand or more before I post a chapter. How's it going? Enjoying it? If yes, good. As a note, the characters that were featured in the previous chapter were actually based on people enlisted in the 610 RAAF during the war. The mannerisms, however, were probably not the same. I would love to see more reviews, seeing as the few that have read the story have enjoyed it thus far. If you have any 'nitpicks,' state them as soon as possible, so I may work them into the story. Thank you!**

Through the Storm

Chapter 5-

A few minutes later Cameron had carefully slid from the chair, allowing Lynette to slump to the side and curl up in the remaining warmth. He and James then briefly made their way to the hangar door and disappeared through it, leaving Perrine to keep watch over Lynne. After a few minutes of waiting, the two reappeared; Cameron carrying a jack, and Ireland carrying a bundle of padding. After that, all three set to work as quietly as they could. The two men raised the tail of the plane whilst Perrine laid on the wing mounting, informing them of changes in angle and feel. Every so often, Cameron would jack up the tail of the Spitfire another few inches until the armorer could slip another broad piece of wood beneath it.

"How's the angle?" he said quietly to Perrine after a half-hour of work.

"I think here is good. My head is higher than my feet, so I don't feel like I'm hanging upside-down."

With a nod, Cameron raised the tail another inch, and James spread a thick cloth beneath it to avoid denting, scarring, or gouging the aluminum skin of the fuselage. He then lowered the jack, and carried it away silently while the armorer secured the woodpile. Once the jack was stowed away, Cameron returned to the plane.

"This," the armorer said motioning to the height and structure of the stack, "Is the same way we prop these up to get a side-profile of the plane."

"I figured so," Cameron replied with a nod. "It's pretty sturdy."

Sliding off of the wing, Perrine silently approached the men as they observed their handiwork. With an approving nod, she then turned to address another issue.

"We may not think about it," Cameron muttered, "but the trailing edge of the wing is a bit higher now that she's in mid-takeoff configuration."

Ireland snapped his fingers. "I've got just the thing to remedy this; an old munitions crate we can use as a step," James said as he pointed over his shoulder to a corner of the hangar. "That, and bedding."

The three of them promptly put together a list of items, and eventually James split off for the door to the hangar, while Cameron made his way to the dark, nondescript corner. On the floor he found a dusty old munitions crate; one foot wide, two feet tall, and four feet long. Hefting up the old crate with both arms onto his shoulder, Cameron promptly returned to his plane and quietly set the crate on the floor. Ireland returned to the hangar just as he had settled the crate into position, bringing with him two single-person bunk mattresses on a dolly with pillows stacked atop them.

"Here we go," he said as he came to a stop. "We had plenty of pillows, but not enough mattresses. Sorry it isn't exactly the Savoy Hotel."

"Oh well," Cameron said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I've already gotten the complementary truffle," he said with a lopsided grin.

Cameron stepped onto the munitions crate, and took off his boots; a pair of laced steel-toes. Taking care to avoid stepping in the dust and wet from the boots, he climbed up onto the wing in his socks, and straddled his way over the closed canopy to the right side of the aircraft.

"Alright," he said readying himself on the trailing edge. "Hand it up to me, if you would."

With a nod, James picked up a mattress and handed the end to Cameron, who pulled it up onto the wing. A pillow followed shortly after, as well as the blanket Perrine had been sitting beneath. He spread the blanket, and laid the pillow down on the part of the mattress on the leading edge of the wing.

"Now for the other one," he said as he slid to the other side.

They followed the same procedure, sliding the mattress up and adding the pillow, sans blanket. When he was finished, Cameron hopped off of the wing and brushed his pant legs off, straightening his tie afterward. Once he had himself sorted out, he silently strode over to where Lynne was still sleeping in her chair.

"How deep a sleep does she go into?" he asked the armorer.

James gave him a quizzical expression. "Why do you ask?" he said with a tilt of his head.

"Because we might want to... I don't know... move her to a more comfortable bed?"

Ireland nodded in reply. "Ah, I see what you mean. Well, I can tell you from experience that her sleep-state is like the other men; enough to rest, and enough to wake," he said in an affirming tone. "When you're with us, you've got to learn how to awaken on short notice, otherwise you'll wind up a liability."

Cameron nodded in agreement. He watched Lynne as she slept, twisting or rolling every so often to make herself comfortable.

"A cute landmine," he said as he turned away. "I think, then, that she's probably comfortable just the way she is."

"You sure?"

"Yes," Cameron said firmly. "If she really isn't comfortable, she'll probably get up and ask me in the middle of the night, so I have no problem," he said as he began to return to his aircraft.

"Do you have some extra blankets?" he said, coming to a stop near the tail.

"Oh, yes we do!" James replied. "I assume you need one?"

"Yeah. If it's not too much trouble, could you... ah..."

"Sure," he said as he disappeared through the hangar door again.

Once Ireland had left the hangar, Cameron silently began to walk around, staring at the minute details of the aircraft. He took a short observation of the beds, and found Perrine's blanket askew on a second pass. With a brief stop, he adjusted the blanket on the right wing's mattress. Once the bed was sufficiently covered, he then waved Perrine over.

"Alright," he said as he crouched down. "My bed isn't ready, but you can sure as hell get some sleep. You first; just step into my hands."

"No thank you," she said with a shake of her head. "I can make it up with the munitions crate."

"Nah, I can't let you do that," he said disapprovingly. "It's covered in dust and wet, and I'm too much of a gentleman to let a lady get her feet wet."

Perrine paused for a second, taken by surprise by Cameron's offer. With a sigh, she shrugged her shoulders and gave up. With a nod, Cameron cupped his hands together and allowed Perrine to step onto them with one foot.

"Don't be afraid to grab onto my head. I'm going to raise you up," he said as he began to rise.

Slowly, he lifted Perrine up until she could lift a leg onto the wing of the fighter. Once he was sure she had firm footing, Cameron lifted her the rest of the way until she eventually had both feet on the wing, and began to make her way to the mattress.

"Thank you," she said with a smile. "I appreciate how much you have done for us both."

Lifting the blankets, she slid under the covers and pulled them back. She lay on the bed for a few moments, adjusting to make herself comfortable. No matter how much she tried to, however, there was one thing that still would not allow her to rest.

"Ah, Cameron?"

"Yes?" he said, turning around.

"Here," she said as she struggled out of her uniform. "Can you hang this somewhere? I can't stand to sleep in this."

With a nod, he disappeared with the uniform. Sighing, Perrine stared at the overhead lighting as she lay on her back. As an afterthought, she made a final statement before bedding down.

"Good night!" she called out to Cameron.

"Good night to you too, Perrine."

She rolled one final time, putting her back to the fuselage. After a few moments, her breathing slowed as she became drowsy.

And soon, Perrine had fallen asleep.

Once Cameron had Perrine bedded down, he quietly approached where Lynne slept, and hung the uniform on the back of her chair. Coming back around to the front again, he paused for a few moments, watching as she slept peacefully. He listened to the whisper of her breath, watching the peaceful expression on her face revealing a feeling of serenity. Every so often her brow would twitch, a reaction to what dreams were moving through her mind, and a small smile began to form on her lips.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" said a voice from over his shoulder.

Cameron jumped slightly with surprise. "When will you people stop scaring me?" he whispered.

Ireland looked away. "Sorry about that, I just came in with the blanket," he said as he motioned to a bundle sitting on the Spitfire's tail.

"Oh, thank you. I was just going to the door to wait for you," Cameron said as he turned around again.

For the final time that night, Cameron returned to the plane and stopped to pick up the blanket. It was thick and brown with room enough for two, and had fleece on the exterior. Picking up the bundle, he made his way to the left wing of the fighter and set the blanket on the trailing edge before turning around to face the armorer.

"Alright James," he said as he lifted himself up backwards. "I'm turning in, obviously. Tomorrow Lynne, Perrine, and I will find something to do in the meantime."

He nodded. "Okay. I'll be busy working on your guns during that time, so make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you," Cameron replied kindly.

After the men bid each other good night, the lights in the hangar shut off with an audible "clunk," plunging the room into darkness. Cameron continued to stare into the darkness, and after awhile his eyes began to adjust to the dull, blue moonlight that filtered in through the windows. Cameron silently slipped into bed, keeping one eye on Lynne whilst he made himself comfortable. Once he was sitting on the wing, he peaked over the top of the tail of the fuselage to take a final look at Lynne.

"Good night, Lynne. We've got a day ahead of ourselves tomorrow," he whispered out.

"Good... night..." Lynne mumbled dreamily.

Cameron sat quietly, surprised. After a few seconds, however, he began to chuckle and flopped onto his back grinning. With his arms behind his head, he stared up at the dormant lights, listenting to the doors rattling in the tracks with the wind. He felt the plane rock slightly as Perrine adjusted under her covers, and eventually heard the sound of Lynne falling asleep once more; a soft and gentle breathing that was barely audible in the hangar. After a few minutes, he too fell asleep.

-=| A few hours later... |=-

The next morning, Cameron's eyes snapped open. He laid on the wing for a few moments, silently staring up at the ceiling of the hangar in the dim light which filtered through the windows on the bay doors. He blinked once, then twice as he laid there, breathing slowly as his body began to awaken from its slumber. With a grunt, he raised himself up onto his elbows and turned in his sheets. His back was now against the main fuselage.

Cameron listened to the sounds of the hangar, which would groan and creak at random moments. He noticed that the sound of the wind had died away, and the doors sat in their rollers now, silent. He yawned as he picked out the individual sounds around the plane in the early morning cold; a pop or moan here or there, the occasional 'tick' of a part or component on a plane, and a multitude of other things including his own breathing... and a distinct shuffling sound. He had almost missed the sound, which was masked between his yawn and the creak of his Spitfire on the stand, and he listened intently as it came closer. His curiosity, now piqued, drew him to action despite the protests of his tired body. After a few moments of debate, he eventually found himself he folding the blanket away and sliding off of the wing to the floor of the hangar to investigate the presence. With a few stumbling steps, he began to walk toward the counter behind the plane as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Who's there?," he grumbled weakly as he came around the tail.

Cameron was suddenly surprised when he found himself colliding with a solid object on the other side of the tail. The object, though moving slowly, managed to push him over while falling on top of him. He immediately found himself entangled in arms and legs whilst being suffocated by two large, warm, soft objects which he found himself unable to describe.

Whoever it was struggled to rise, having so little energy that they would move a few inches only to fall down again. In the meantime, Cameron quickly and leisurely spread his arms out as he made a blind guess of anatomical position, huffing and wheezing for air. He folded his arms closed, felt with his hands until he had the person by their shoulders, and quickly pushed them up and away until they were face to face.

"I should have known," he chuckled as he stared into Lynne's eyes.

Cameron continued to lay on the hard floor for a few moments, taking in the expression she returned to him along with a soft, broken, tired moan. He found it to be similar to a picture he had once seen of Marilyn Monroe; her eyes half closed as she blew a tempting kiss to the photographer. Lynne's expression, however, was what he would describe as 'softer;' her lips parted in a 'half-kiss' as though unsure of what it would entail, and her eyes returning an uncomprehending, dark blue stare comparable in color to the deepest part of the Atlantic Ocean. As she continued to lay on top of Cameron, something seemingly registered in the back of her mind after a few moments time had passed. Her eyes widened slightly, and a light blush appeared on her cheeks.

"What am I... ah... I..." she stammered, heart beginning to pound.

"Shhhhh," Cameron whispered back. "It's okay, just _stay calm._"

She began to take sudden glances to her left and right as she realized what had happened.

"I... eh... no, I..." she said in short bursts with each glance, turning redder with a worried expression.

Cameron silently lifted her torso away, and rolled to his right as he gently worked his way out from beneath her. Lynne untangled her legs from his and quickly slid backwards, resting her back against the counter. Her face was now bright red, and her tie and vest was askew.

"I'm so sorry!" she whispered embarassedly, hand on her breast. "I really didn't know what was happening, and I was just so tired! Please, forgive me!"

Cameron smiled. "Shhh, calm down! It's okay Lynne. It was just a bit of clumsiness; nothing to be ashamed of!"

She shook her head vigorously, causing her long braid to dance on her back.

"GAH, I can't believe I did something so stupid!"

Cameron smiled, and his expression softened. He shuffled closer to Lynne on his knees and reached forward.

"Hey now..." he said in a soft, low tone. "I'm sure that any number of people could have done the same thing."

Lynne felt Cameron run his fingers on her shoulders, and opened one eye to find him straightening her vest. In a quick move, he reached down and straightened the hem as to make it even with the v-shaped neck of the vest.

"I've made many, many mistakes just like this one," he said as he dusted her shoulders off. "The only difference is that I haven't managed to suffocate anyone I know with any sort of... well... hell if I can say it without getting slapped."

Rising to his feet, Cameron extended his hand to Lynne, who took it after a short pause. After being helped to her feet, she began to step forward; staggering slightly as she walked along with Cameron to the other side of the aircraft. As they moved around the plane, Cameron stared at the light shining through the window panels with awe.

"Wow, isn't_ that _abeautiful thing to see in the morning?" he asked as he pointed out the waves of light reflecting on the hangar ceiling.

Lynne nodded. "Yes... it is isn't it?" she replied as they sat down in the seating from the previous night.

Cameron and Lynne made themselves comfortable, and an awkward silence settled over the two of them as they watched the early morning sunlight dance across the hangar. As the light show neared its climax, a phone jangled cheerily on its reciever at the far end of the hangar. The two of them quizzically stared in its direction, both wondering who would be calling at that time.

"I'll get it," Cameron said as he rose from his seat.

With a quick trot, he moved to the wall nearest the side door to the hangar, and picked up the reciever of an old black rotary-dial phone.

"Hello?" he asked carefully.

"Oh, Cameron, is that you?" replied the familiar voice of the armorer.

"James!" he exclaimed. "Good morning."

He listened as the man on the other end shifted the phone on his shoulder.

"Yes, good morning to you too," he said as he lowered his tone. "Say, I've something to ask you this morning," he said as he rustled a paper on the other end.

"Ask away," Cameron said in agreement.

"Do you remember..." he said with another shift, "my mentioning of the Commanding Officer the other night?"

Cameron racked his memory. "Yes... I believe you said that he was stranded in... Southampton?"

"Yes. The snow trapped him, and he's caught at a bed and breakfast," Ireland replied with a change in tone.

Cameron turned and leaned against the hangar wall. "What of it then?" he asked.

"Well... seeing as you'll have nothing better to do today, I need to ask you a favor."

Cameron, slowly coming to realize what the question was, laughed into the reciever. "Alright, I see where this is going Ireland. You're going to be busy today I assume, getting the runways cleared?"

"And I need someone to go and get him," he finished. "If you go now, the roads are clear enough that you can take the facility staff car."

Cameron turned to check on Lynne, who gave him a quizzical stare, and mouthed the question of who was on the other end. Cameron returned her a wink in reply. Turning red, she quickly looked away.

"Well... it does sound tempting," he said with true interest in his tone. "...never being to Southampton and all... What sort of car is it?"

The armorer shuffled again. "It's a... Hudson. From the United States."

Cameron gasped with delight. _"Really?"_ he asked in surprise, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

"Yes," James replied. "She's low and heavy with narrow wheels, and hopefully that will do you some good."

Cameron nodded to himself. "I'm sold. Just rattle off the address, and we'll be on our way," he said quickly.

After a few moments, Cameron scribbled down the address and hung up the phone. With a short jog, he returned to where Lynne sat and beamed at her.

"Lynne, do you want to go for a ride?" he asked earnestly.

"A... ride?" she asked. "In what, and to where?"

"Why, but to pick up your Commanding Officer in Southampton. We'll be taking the staff car from the base motorpool."

For a few moments, Lynne sat silently as she contemplated her decision. Cameron watched her expression, just happening to notice her steal a glimpse in the direction of his fighter.

"What's up?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's just... nothing. Never mind."

"Are you certain?" he asked. "It's alright if you don't want to go... I'm not forcing you. I have no right to."

"I... ah... well..." she said, blushing slightly, "I'm sorry. For some reason, I just can't."

Cameron shrugged his shoulders, and returned a look of understanding. "I see."

Rising to his feet, he quietly returned to his own bed and plopped down on the munitions crate. He slid into his steel-toes and quickly laced them up. All the while, Lynne watched quietly from her chair. Once ready, Cameron rose to his feet, and brushed the wrinkles from his shirt as he retucked it into his pants. Straightening his green tie, he then looked around for his dress uniform.

"Here," she said as she began to shrug out of it.

"Thank you, Lynne," he replied as she handed it to him.

Giving it a shake, he put the uniform on and buttoned it up. He patted his pockets, making sure he had all of his belongings, and in the end gave a sigh. He was ready.

"Alright Lynne, I don't know how long I'll be out," he said as he smiled back at her. "If you need to go out, be sure to put on your uniform, which is..."

"Up there?" she finished, pointing at where it hung from the Spitfire.

Cameron turned. "Oh, damnit."

He stared at the plane, and contemplated shaking his fist at his own stupidity. His body sagged, quite visibly, and much to Lynette's amusement.

"Don't worry," she said assuringly. "I'll just stay in here for today."

Cameron spun around. "Are you sure? I don't want to leave you stuck in here, it's just an old hangar!"

She began to redden again, and stepped over and behind where he stood.

"You just go already," she said as she turned him toward the door and began to push. "I'll make sure that Perrine doesn't come after you."

"O... kay..." he said as he stumbled along. "I'll be back later then!"

Lynne continued to push, and soon the two of them were at the door of the hangar. Before Cameron could protest, the door was pulled open and he was shoved through. After his brief departure, the door banged shut after him.

"That was... odd," he said as he dusted his pants off.

He then stopped to gaze at the snowy world around him. Curiously enough, the snow had blown into a large, crater-like surface on the runway, the crater's bases revealing patches of dry ground beneath. The sun shone brightly now, glaring into his eyes as the snow sparkled like millions of tiny diamonds. The air was sharp, and cold now. The snow, dry and light. Drawing in a breath of the icy air, he found that it stung his throat and sent him into a coughing fit, eyes beginning to water in the process.

"It's damn cold today," he muttered as his breath drifted in clouds.

Taking a few moments to look, he eventually found the vehicle hangar where he had seen the emergency trucks the previous evening. He began to jog in the direction of the building, and reached the door after a few minutes. Muttering a prayer, he twisted the handle on an aged metal door. It was unlocked.

"Hello?" he called as he opened the door. "Is anyone home?"

The door, once opened, revealed only silence and a brightly-lit hangar with a packed-dirt floor. To one side, large troop-carrying trucks sat lined against the wall. On another, a trailer with a tank and coiled firehose sat waiting. All vehicles were of a dark color, almost a dark, dark green with no shine. Beginning to shake in his boots, Cameron quickly stepped into the building and shut the door.

"Now, where the hell is it?" he said as he began his search for the Hudson.

He moved forward into the parked vehicles, weaving his way amongst trucks, tractors, and fuel equipment. Taking a few minutes time he eventually found the Hudson; a 1941 coupe with a top hood or "bonnet" that came to a point above the grill like a ship's bow. The front half of the hood then blended off to the sides with the fenders over the wheels, and abruptly dropped vertically, splitting the grill in two with a strip of chrome which stopped above a thick steel bumper. Particular to the era of vehicle, the windshield was split into two separate panels with another strip of metal. Overall, the vehicle was in an immaculate condition, and Cameron grinned with anticipation.

Currently, the car was wedged between a wheel tractor and a troop carrier. Threading his way through to it, he was surprised to find a brown package sitting on its hood. Out of curiosity, he picked up the parcel and read a tag attached to its top.

"For Cameron Taylor. Open before departure," he read quietly.

Without a second thought, he tore the wrapping from the package. To his surprise, the contents tumbled out onto the hood. These were a thick wad of bills, presumably British pounds, and a brief note. Ignoring the roll, Cameron unfolded the note and began to read.

_Dear Cameron Taylor,_

_Thank you once again for saving Lynne. As I have said, she means a great lot to us all, and we treasure her life as though she were Her Majesty, save realistic priority however. As a thank you from everyone, everybody gathered up their loose change and tossed it into the pot for you. I didn't bother counting the mess, but I'm sure there's quite a lot in there for you._

_Thank you once again,_

_ James Ireland and The Gentlemen of 610 Squadron, RAAF, RAF_

_P.S. From Ireland: Seeing as the two of you are bound for Southampton on an empty stomach, let me reccommend a nice little place near the docks, The Victoria Road Public House. It's hard to miss! Be sure to tell them that I sent you, and request private seating. Tab's on me!_

Silently, Cameron pocketed the note and the roll of bills, grinning.

"Ireland, I sure as hell owe you one," he said in thanks as he shook his head.

Buttoning his pockets closed, he then set to the task of getting the car started. He shuffled his way inbetween the parked machinery on the left side of the car, and past driver's side door. Straining to move, he gingerly pulled the door handle, slipped into the car, and pulled the door shut after himself with a bang. Once ready, he brushed his pant legs off, and had a look around the vehicle's interior.

"Must've been an import from the US," he said noting the placement of the steering wheel on the left side.

In front of him, the steering wheel sat practically on his lap. It was almost as big as a serving platter, and made to be cranked hard without powered steering. His gauges were simple; a tachometer, oil pressure gauge, and speedometer the size of a saucer. Turn signals were a single light, which blinked rapidly when either side was switched on, and the fuel gauge was to the left. The dashboard was a mixture of tan wood and chrome, and had a radio mounted in the center.

"It's beautiful!" Cameron said with awe.

Groping near the steering wheel, he found the keys already in the ignition. Putting the brakes on and the clutch in, he turned the key with a flick of his wrist and listened as the motor rumbled to life; he was overjoyed as the vehicle rocked with the power of the heavy engine. Checking mirrors and doors, he slipped the car into first and tapped the accelerator pedal, bringing the hulk gliding smoothly into the clear, although strained as he heaved the wheel over. Once his rear wheels were clear, he then cranked the wheel to the left and faced the doors as the car rolled forward. About five feet away, he brought the coupe to a stop and put the parking brake on, exiting the car.

Meanwhile in the hangar... Lynette had her head in her hands.

Currently, she sat in the armchair, Perrine still sleeping on the wing of the fighter. She sat with her elbows on her knees, with both hands on her face, her bangs over her fingertips.

"I can't believe I was so stupid!" she sorrowfully muttered to herself, sliding her hands down and together.

With a depressed sigh, she sagged backward into the chair and crossed her legs, bored to tears. Only minutes earlier, she had pushed Cameron through the door and on his way; still severely embarassed by her mishap. Her body had acted, but her mind and heart had protested the whole time, now leaving a burning anger toward herself.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" she continued, pounding the arm of the chair. "Oh, bollocks! I'm going back to bed."

With a push, Lynne propelled herself from the chair, and began to angrily stomp toward Cameron's fighter. Upon reaching the wing he had slept on the previous night, she placed a hand on the trailing edge, lept onto the wing, and flopped face-down onto his bed.

"Damnit!" she shouted into the blanket.

**Follow up Author's Note- Sorry about the delay. This one was surprisingly difficult to cobble together. While the MC's and Lynne's personality are quite agreeing in nature and mannerism, I still just CANNOT rush the story and relationship. Two can be birds of a feather... but things can change, weather the events of our histories are outside of our control...**

**Or not.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note- And so... we begin the SIXTH chapter of our story! In regards to the gentleman (or fair lady), who requested seeing more of the other witches... well... let's just say that Cameron and Lynne's situation will get rather dire, timewise, in this chapter. We'll be moving along to Dover rather shortly!**

**"And once again, Intelligence has failed us." -Dirk Pitt, NUMA**

Through the Storm

Chapter 6-

The car idled in the crusted snow with a throaty burble, a guttural and powerful sound which came from the depths of the engine's soul. Rolls of steamy exhaust, laced with smoke, bellowed freely from the tailpipe on the rear of the vehicle. Cameron sat silently behind the steering wheel, taking in the sights, vibrations, and smells, allowing them to permeate deep to his heart and core.

As he continued to sit, he pondered the decision of weather or not to urge Lynne's accompaniment. Things were still on a difficult note... he had transportation now. He had money. Very quickly, he was also beginning to count Lynne as an asset, though it was an odd relationship; crafted out of two days' survival through snow storms, flight, close quarters, and an odd pull between the two of them. As a seeming bonus, he figured, it showed no signs of strain.

"Dear god... of all the situations in my entire life, I'm caught in a life or death struggle over something as trivial as taking a beautifal woman out for breakfast on a frosty morning! It's damned appaling!" he stated matter-of-factly to himself, shaking his head.

He continued to sit, watching the exhaust curl around on the rear bumper as the interior grew colder with the passing moments. About five minutes later... he made up his mind.

"You know what? Damned if I do, and damned if I don't!" he growled as he cranked the heat up and reached for the door handle. "Things are left to fate, chance, and hell of a lot of indecision. There's a damn good reason I'm still here!"

Flinging the door open, he rose from the idling Hudson. Turning, he slammed the door shut, and began to return to the hangar, stomping his way through the snow. A hot determination burned through him as he came closer to the door of the hangar, step by step, until he soon found himself at its threshold. With a jerk, he straightened his uniform and brushed the newly-formed snow from his pant legs. Once clear, he then stomped his feet, and reached for the handle.

"Mister Taylor!" a distant voice shouted. "Mister Taylor, a wire for you sir! It's quite urgent!"

Cameron's hand froze in mid-air, and a scowl temporarily crossed his expression. He felt as though he had been interrupted. Giving his head a quick shake, he turned to face the commotion; a young man, barely eighteen, sprinting across the runway with a sheet of paper. His breath came in huge, steamy puffs as he ran, until he skidded to a stop at Camerons feet. Panting, he shoved the paper at Cameron.

"Don't... ask... just... read," he huffed between breaths. "Compliments of... Ireland!"

An eyebrow rising in annoyance, Cameron snatched the message from the boy's hand. With a snap of paper, he straightened the sheet out and began to read its contents.

EMERGENCY: WIRE SERVICE OF THE ROYAL AIR FORCE

COMMUNICATION BETWEEN CONTACTS: 501st Joint Fighter Wing in contact to 610 Squadron

SUBJECT: Lynette Bishop, Pronounced Dead

His eyes froze after the subject line.

"When... when did you get this?" he said as he gently shook the paper with each word.

"We got it just this mornin'!" the boy replied. "Our boys in the communications shack got it over the wireless just minutes ago."

Cameron nodded. "Hang on, let me read this," he said, holding a hand up.

To the valliant Britannian defenders of 610 Squadron RAF, I, Squadron Leader Mio Sakamoto must inform those it may concern of a regretful development in recent days. As of two days ago, Air Force Sergeant Lynette Bishop has disappeared without a trace, a development which occurred after a recent battle with a Gallian neuroi. We realize that despite the fact that the hive itself was recently destroyed, there are still a few neuroi remaining. In our remaining service days here, we are still tasked with eliminating this straggling threat, as was Sergeant Bishop on that day. We now are led to believe that she was killed in combat, valliantly fighting off the threat over a forested area in southern Britannia. With this event now past, our integrity has once again been called into question by our superiors, and any search and rescue efforts to recover her alive or search for the remains of the deceased have been denied. It is with heavy hearts, minds, souls, and a low morale that we must also accept our superiors' declaration that she is deceased. It angers me how this has progressed since.

As a final request, I contact you in a rush before this too is denied. Please perform a thorough search for her, seeing as our hands are tied tightly behind our backs as the vultures in the brass glare down upon us with a sadistic look. If by some luck you find her alive, DO NOT contact Royal Air Command! Trevor Maloney's intelligence moles will do what they can to interfere.

Godspeed to you all.

Squadron Leader Mio Sakamoto, 501st Joint Fighter Wing

Inside the time of a second, the text became a jumbled mess. Cameron wadded the paper into a tight ball with both hands, and stuffed it into a pocket on his uniform. He then turned, and looked up at the boy who had brought the message.

"Boy, what is your name?" he said in a hard tone.

"Ah... Timothy... Timothy Mitchell sir!" he said uneasily.

Cameron nodded, and looked back at the idling Hudson, his hand balling into a white-knuckled fist.

"Timothy?" he asked in a low, angry tone.

"Yes sir," the boy shot back.

Cameron nodded. "Get me Ireland, and have him out here NOW. I must set to waking the girls immediately. GO!"

With a quick nod, the boy stumbled along as he shot back across the snow-bound runway. Spinning on the ball of his foot, Cameron turned back to the hangar, and stormed through the door.

"Lynne, Perrine!" he barked as he strode into the hangar, his voice echoing against the sheet metal walls. "Get up immediately, we must depart for Dover!"

After roughly ten minutes, _pure bedlam _ensued; those involved with the departure soon finding themselves in a frenzied madness, technicians scrambling as they re-fueled Cameron's fighter and dismantled its stand, whilst the girls busily stuffed the blankets back into the stuff bag. All the while, Cameron exchanged words with James in a heated discussion.

"What the hell did I just read?"

"That was my reaction," the armorer returned. "This is _very_ bad, almost like a repeat of the Warlock incident."

Cameron raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "_Warlock incident?_"

Ireland nodded. "It's only within the military circles," he replied. "It was an experiment using enemy technology, and was meant to eliminate the need for the Joint Fighter Wings. However, seeing as it was _enemy_ tech, the neuroi merged with it and turned it on us."

The two men began to walk over to the Spitfire, now off of its stand. Hoses ran from the fuselage like black snakes, their ends connected to fuel barrels. The lines seemed alive, moving with a slight jerk as men manning the barrels heaved hand-pumps which led through their openings. Upon reaching the plane, Cameron began to circle the aircraft like a hungry shark, scrutinizing its components in a hastily organized pre-flight check.

"Sounds like someone's failed attempt at glory," he said with a bored tone as he checked the tires. "Who's dumbass idea was it?"

Ireland laughed, hands on his hips. "Well, the whole thing was conjured up by a rather daft bastard by the name of Trevor Maloney."

Cameron rose from a crouch, turning to the armorer. "Trevor Maloney, eh? What can you tell me about him?"

Before Ireland could reply, a voice interrupted on the other side of the fuselage.

"_Maloney?_ Not _that _twat again!"

In surprise, Cameron straightened in his uniform; his brow furrowed confusedly as he took darting glances like a bird.

"Well, I now understand the general conscensus of the man," he said in a bemused tone. "Lynne, why don't _you _tell us of your past experiences with him?"

Silently, Lynette came around the tail with an angry scowl on her face. Coming to a stop, she crossed her arms in a huff.

"With ill-found pleasure," she muttered sarcastically. "You see the last time Trevor Maloney appeared on our doorstep, he nearly destroyed the eastern coast of Britannia in another one of his damned power-grabs. As well as _that_, he nearly got the Wing disbanded and almost earned _me_ a dishonorable discharge!"

With a smirk, Cameron folded his arms and shifted his weight onto his heels. "Well now... it appears the man believes he has brass-hewn testicular fortitude."

Ireland grinned. "A rather descriptive way of putting it."

"Indeed..." Cameron said in a mischievous tone as he smiled evilly. "However with most all people, there is a key factor in this all; an exploit that mostly all of humanity has."

Ireland's eyebrow rose in curiosity. "Oh, and what would that be?"

Cameron chuckled. "Much like the metal that the expression hearkens to... the man's ego must be just as malleable."

As the trio began to chuckle at the statement, Perrine trotted over and joined the huddle. Stopping at the edge of the group, she cleared her throat to gain their attention.

"I've readied my strikers," she said taking the floor, adjusting her glasses with her middle finger. "Do we have any sort of plan?"

All eyes turned to Cameron in anticipation. At the moment, his face had been a mask of constant thought, brow furrowed. All were surprised, however, when it began to mold into a look of slight bewilderment. Slowly, he took a step toward Perrine and leaned forward. Seeing as the two were of similar height, he stared intently into her eyes with a hard gaze. Perrine's expression turned blank, and she blushed slightly.

"Ah... what... what is it?" she asked.

"I just realized you're wearing glasses," he explained. "I completely missed the rims."

"Oh... how... how unobservant of you," she said embarassedly, looking away.

"Well," he said stepping back, "I must say they do look nice on you, both proper and precise."

After a brief moment of silence, Cameron returned to the original conversation with a sigh. In the meantime, Perrine remained quiet as she turned redder and redder.

"Now then," he said in a softer tone, "let it be known that before we begin, I've _never_ been a military tactician, so prepare for some insanity. Seeing as our target is a rather large facility, we must develop two methods of approach; a direct raid for an outdoors situation, or a quiet plan of methodical elimination," he said in a repeatative tone. "Does he ever bring a along a contingient of men?"

Lynette nodded in agreement. "Yes, he does. In the period before the Warlock incident, we returned to base from combat. Upon our landing however, we were almost immediately encircled by men of the Britannian Army."

Cameron nodded. "And after that?"

"We were then confined to quarters, only to be escorted from the base a day later."

"Okay then," Cameron finished. "Knowing the time when we recieved _this_," he said showing the wrinkled message around, "can we assume that Miss Sakamoto is still on-base?"

"Yes," confirmed Lynne.

With a grin, he nodded. "Alright, that means we still have a grace period before they're all _deported_ from the base. I've never heard anything of your base though, tell me about it," he said quickly. "I need details; geological, architecture, rooms, hangars and wartime facilities," he said as he counted the items off on his fingers.

He then folded his arms behind his back, and began to balance on the balls of his feet.

"We also need a way to get in..." he mumbled, head down. "A way in... a way... to smuggle... to smuggle in both the four of us, as well as my fighter. Something so inconspicuous... it's... unquestionable, a trojan horse!" he exclaimed, looking up. "Do you have any suggestions girls?" he asked eagerly as he glanced around.

Perrine's hand shot up.

"The French diplomat has the floor," he motioned.

"Pardon?" she asked.

"Just speak."

Taking a deep breath, she looked down and away. "Ah yes, well... I believe I know of a way we may enter. You see, technically our base is on a peninsula. Literally however, we are on a sort of island."

Cameron turned to Perrine. "Alright, so what of it?"

"I'm getting to that!" she snapped back with a glare. "You see peninsula or none, we have always recieved supplies by way of airlift. At least once every week, a plane will come in and land at the facility; a trivial task apart from any possible crosswinds blowing off of the channel from Gallia."

"How can you be sure of this?" Cameron said as he gestured with both hands. "Give me some evidence."

"Certainly!" she said with a lilt in tone. "I know these things in utmost certainty, especially due to the fact that I have always accompanied Major Sakamoto when she oversaw the offload of supplies."

Cameron gave a slightly dramatic nod, and gazed over the group again.

"What sort of aircraft is it?"

"Usually it's a Junkers JU-fifty-two, but we do recieve the occasional C-forty-seven or two," Lynne answered hurriedly.

"Alright, now I need a schedule!" he pressed on. "Where does that plane go before landing at Dover, and who flys it?" he asked, smacking his fist into his palm like bullet points in a speech.

"There's a bit of a surprise in that'n," Ireland said motioning over his shoulder with a jerk of his head. "The boy and I turn up a pint every now and then, and he always makes a short stop here before moving north up the coast to the five-hundred first. His name's George Cambridge."

"And the next time he's due?"

"Today," the armorer said with a bite. "I've ordered men to clear the runway, and they've been doing so as we speak."

"Good, very good," Cameron replied. "For now, let's set to getting prepared. When that plane lands, I want everyone involved on board _except_ for Lynne."

Lynne's jaw fell to the hangar floor. "What? Why don't I go?" she asked incredulously.

Cameron stepped forward, and looked into her eyes with a penetrating stare. Raising both hands, he dropped them both heavily onto her shoulders, and smiled warmly.

"Lynne, you'll get to _go _alright, because I've got a special task for you," he said in a low tone. "You see, in _my_ _world_ things are much different. The time now, in _my world_, is December, twenty-eleven. World War Two was over sixty years ago. My plane was manufactured _during_ World War Two. Do you know what that means?" he asked repetitiously.

Unknowingly, Lynne shook her head.

"That means that _my plane_ is an _antique_," he finished in a near-whisper. "Nobody, other than _myself_ and the pilot before me who flew it during the war, has ever laid hands on its controls... but then... there's _you_."

Lynne began to blush. "What... what about... me?"

Cameron stared silently for a few moments. Ireland watched with amusement, whilst Perrine began to tap her foot on the cement with irritation. It seemed an eternity passed, the sounds of the work crews slowly disappearing from their hearing, until the two of them were seemingly the only two souls in the hangar. Hesitantly Cameron broke his gaze, and slowly began to turn Lynette by her shoulders until she faced the plane.

"I need to keep you out of sight until we enter your base," he said, wrapping his right arm around her and clutching her shoulders. "So to do this... you will fly my fighter. Not only are you safest there, but all they can do to an escort pilot is turn them back. We need you, and most importantly _I _need you for this plan to work, as well as other more _secretive_ exploits."

Almost instantly, Cameron felt Lynne tense beneath his fingertips. Watching from the corner of his eye, he watched as she began to pale with apprehension. Slowly and silently, she began to tug from his grip.

"Lynne," he asked quietly, "_please_. If you don't do this, Maloney's goons will spot you. I'm almost certain that we'll be detained if we're not careful. You're the only one I trust with my plane."

Once again, Cameron turned to face Lynne. He watched as she seemingly aged before his eyes, giving a dead stare forward, her blue eyes devoid of feeling. Quietly and slowly, she reached up with her left hand and placed it on Cameron's shoulder. Uneasily, Cameron let his arm fall away and watched as Lynne stepped to the right. Her left hand remained on his shoulder, and the other came to rest on the knot of her tie, toying with it.

"Ah... I..." she mumbled between breaths, her shoulders sagging. "I... okay. I will do it."

Cameron chuckled softly. "Thank you. To return the favor, I'll try to make up for that breakfast, okay?"

In surprise, she looked up. "Breakfast? What breakfast?"

In sudden realization, Cameron knew that he had put his foot in his mouth. He drew in a sharp and uneven breath, looking away, as Ireland began to laugh.

"Hey now you two!" he said with a lingering chuckle. "Let's get this show off the ground!"

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Cameron looked up at the armorer. "Ah, y-yes let's!" he said, stepping away from Lynne.

Soon after, the conversation began to start up again. As the remaining three began to walk away, Lynette stood silently by the Spitfire, watching as they disappeared through the hangar side door. The clamor and excitement of the work had died down now, leaving Lynne alone to collect her thoughts. She seemed frozen in place, arms hanging limp now, her stomach wound as tight as a drum. Then, all in one motion... she began to stumble drunkenly toward the tail of the fighter, digging her fingers into her gut.

"Christ, I don't know why... but I think I'm gonna' be sick!" she muttered with broken and sorrowful tone.

Tripping, she fell against the tail. She then lay silent, arms draped over onto the other side on the cold aluminum skin, holding herself up. Long forgotten, the RAF uniform that had been hanging overnight began to slide, and soon it fell in a dark heap of fabric on top of Lynne.

Unknowingly... Cameron had set into motion a series of events that could possibly doom both the operation... and Lynne.

About a half an hour later, a man in the control tower guided in the cargo plane for landing. The plane, a C-47 better known as the DC-3, descended lazily toward the runway. Eventually, the huge tires of its engine-mounted landing gear barked and hissed as they touched the packed snow on the freshly plowed runway. The plane bounced up again, but only a half-foot, before being forced down again by its heavy load. Designed and built in the nineteen-thirties, and flown in the ninteen-forties, the Douglas DC-3 was the refined version of the DC-1, an early passenger aircraft. Revered by most of the aviation world, the airframe design was by far the most popular, and the aircraft one of the most iconic of the Second World War.

Dropping its tailwheel into the icy snow with a dull 'thump,' the plane leaned forward slightly as the pilot rolled toward the hangars on his brakes. With ice and snow on the runway, the pilot steered the plane with gentle nudges of the differential brakes, only steering with the tailwheel when the differential brake could only stop the plane on the runway when used. The broad radial engines, which were blended into the wings, rose and fell in pitch as the plane taxied to a stop in front of the large bay doors. Setting the parking brake, the man cut the throttles and cut the fuel to the engines. In short order, the tri-blade propellers spun to a stop, and soon the graceful aluminum beast sat silently on the runway. After a few minutes pause, there was a powerful hiss as the boarding steps lowered from the tail side-door. Once extended, a man in a dark-green jumpsuit with broad shoulders, and a broad, rocky complexion emerged, wearing the cap of a bomber captain that was tipped to the side. With a confident, half-ass swagger, the man stepped down the steps onto the runway with a crunch of the snow under his combat boots.

"Hey Ireland!" The man shouted in feigned anger with un-accented American English. "Where in the hell are you? You best get the hell out here or there'll be hell to pay!"

Nearby the door to the control tower swung open, smacking against the exterior. James Ireland then stormed out of it, a wide grin on his face, whilst a couple of the other men straggled along behind. Upon reaching the big old freighter, the Brit gave the man a violent slap on the shoulder.

"How in hell have you been George?" Ireland bellowed with a laugh.

"Well," Cambridge replied, "seeing as I was only just flying cargo in Africa, then moved off to this icy hole, I'm doing fine!"

"Tha's good!" he said with a grin. "Really good! What treasures hath thou brought us this time around?"

The the pilot shrugged his shoulders. "Doh, hell, the ususal; rations, guns, rum, smuggled goods from the Gallians, the usual illegalities."

"Sounds fun," the armorer replied jokingly.

With a nod, the man gazed around aimlessly. "So'd you come to have a drink m'boy? There's not many places to go, seeing as everything's snowed in."

Ireland sighed heavily, and laughed twice, sarcastically. "Ah... no. Not this time me yankee friend. I've come actually on some rather urgent business this time 'round."

Almost immediately, the smile faded from Cambridge's face. "Oh really?" he said confusedly. "This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the notams* posted this morning, would it?"

**(Author's Note- Notams are basically like inter-office memos amongst pilots. They warn of things from military no-fly zones, to dangerous flying areas, to rocket launches. Kind of like the report in the early morning news of where all the traffic accidents and street repairs are so that they don't impede traffic, only in this case the risk is to the traffic and not the work crews.)**

Ireland's eyes lit up. "Notams? What bloody notams? I was not aware of any changes!"

With a grunt, the man dug through his pocket. "On a whim, I nicked it from the board before I left. Curious bit o' shit this is as is the man who pinned it when nobody was lookin'. Here," he said, stuffing paper into the armorer's hand, "take a look."

Despite the large gash where the man had carelessly torn it from a cork bulletin board, the document read with the usual coordinates and listings, warning of neuroi activity, military exercises, and the other usual things in the alien aviation world. James's eyes wandered down the sheet, scrutinizing all of the warnings and listings. He stopped, however, when his gaze came to rest on a seemingly hastily-cobbled addition at the very bottom of the list.

"Due to etherjet striker test exercises over Dover Strait, the area within a ten-nautical-mile radius of the Britannian base of the 501st Joint Fighter Wing has been declared a HIGH-RISK, NO FLY ZONE," Ireland read to those listening. "It is strongly encouraged that all pilots avoid the area, unless a combat circumstance has initiated! The area is also guarded by patrol aircraft, which are Spitfires of the Royal Air Force should pilots need to identify the aircraft. Unless proof is given which grants access to the area, all aircraft will be escorted from the area or forced down. Pilots will be detained for an indeterminable amount of time."

Cambridge stamped his feet in the cold, and shook his head in denial. "It sounds like bullshit to me, especially considering the fact Karlslandic jet research was set back ten years after the girls' last incident."

Ireland turned, and spit a huge wad into the snow with obvious disgust. "It's that prick Maloney again! You can smell his shit smeared all over it!"

Before either man could continue, the crunch of snow was heard. Both gentlemen looked up, and were surprised to find Cameron Taylor making his way toward them. Ireland coughed in the cold morning air, and smiled half-heartedly.

"Aha!" Ireland burst, gesturing. "George, this boy here is Cameron Taylor. Unless nobody was told of Lynne's disappearance, he's the one who saved her life!"

The pilot stared with a _you're shitting me_ expression at Cameron. "What the hell are you spewing? You should know that it's been all over the papers that Bishop's dead! Killed over the woods northwest o' here! Her dad's shrieked bloody murder for Christs' sakes!"

"So you_ haven't _heard," Taylor interrupted. "Just so you know, I'm not even from this country, or this world for that matter," he stated pointlessly.

Cambridge stared with curiosity. "Wait... your accent. You're a Liberion?"

"Th' hell's a _Liberion_?" Cameron asked confusedly. "I'm an American."

"American?"

"Yeah, as in the United States of _America_. You know? The country that was started when the British started raping us of tax money?"

Cambridge gave a laser-eye stare to Ireland that bore through him. "You lie! The man's nuts! There's no way he could be capable of saving the Bishop girl, and he's not even competent enough to remember the names of his world's superpowers!"

"Now _George_," Ireland objected, "don't be so quick to judge! The boy _is_ referring to the nation of Liberion, only in his sense though. I'm right, aren't I?"

"W-whatever you mean, yeah," he replied with a nod. "I'm still confused over this whole business, but right now we have other, more important things to discuss."

"Oh really," replied Cambridge in a sarcastic tone. "What could be more important than keeping my cargo schedule?"

With another evil grin, Cameron gestured toward the hangar. "If you'll sit down and join us, I can elaborate for you."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note- And so it begins; the epic struggle of the two pilots. After trial, and tribulation, they finally made it to the island of olde, the great Mont Saint Michel. BAHAHAHAHA! Just kidding! And here I am, sitting with a glass of expensive wine as I read this to you. I wish. Here's another five-thousand for the troops back in the States and in the Commonwealth!**

Through the Storm

Chapter 7

Taylor lead the two men back to the hangar to edify the details of the operation, the going much easier now over the cleared runway. Opening the door for the two following, he then stepped in after them into the warm air. As the two men disappeared around the corner, Cameron turned and shut the door, blocking out the cold.

"Alright gentlemen!" he said blindly around the corner. "Have a seat near the kitchen, and we'll begin our war council."

He came into the hangar, and returned once more to the ring of seats. Ireland now sat in Lynne's armchair, and Cambridge had taken Perrine's. Somewhere along the line, Perrine had disappeared once more, and Cameron began to contemplate the possible places she could be. As he gazed over the faces, he also idly began to wonder what had become of Lynette.

"Alright," Cambridge began, "so inform me what is going on."

Nodding, Cameron came to a stop in front of the two men. "Yes, let me begin. I wish I had an easel or something to write these things down, but I regret to say that I am no commander or tactician," he said calmly. "Also, I had hoped that the girls would be here, but I guess I'll just inform you two for now."

George's hand rose. "What girls?"

"Why Lynne, and a Gallian girl by the name of Perrine of course!" he said with a smile.

"Ah," the pilot said with a nod.

"Okay," Cameron started, shifting from the balls of his feet to his heels. "As I'm sure you know by now, this man by the name of Trevor Maloney has taken and captured the Britannian base which the five-hundred first Joint Fighter Wing operates from," he stated in methodical overview. "Our... _goals_... are to do three things which I outline next; get Lynne in and hidden, liberate the girls on-base, and to politely escort Maloney from the base."

Cambridge grunted in contempt. "You're an idiot. You've got to have another plan, and ways to get in," he objected.

Cameron countered, and stomped the heel of his steel-toed boots. "Quite right you are! The objectives, in all practicality, will remain the same. However, the way we accomplish them, and the requirements for these methods will differ. For instance, you wished to know how we will enter?"

"Yes," the pilot said as he crossed his arms.

"That's where you come in," Taylor finished, giving a nod toward George. "I am quite willing to assume that the notams, which were probably fabricated, were placed only on your base of operation Mister Cambridge. Unless _Her Majesty_ herself, or some other aircraft shows up unexpectedly, I'm sure he placed it knowing that you were to be the only aircraft expected that day, which is today."

"How do you prove it was just us who got the notam?"

"_Because_," Cameron said, nodding toward James. "Didn't James say that there were no changes to them?"

"Ah, I understand your logic," Cambridge said with satisfaction.

Now it was Ireland's turn. Leaning forward in his seat, he tented his fingers together.

"How in the hell do you expect to get us in?" he asked. "I'm almost certain that anyone involved right now is coming along, myself included."

With a sarcastic laugh, Cameron gestured with his right hand toward the Spitfire. "Why, but flying in of course! I believe we can pull off something from the history books called the... ah... Trojan Horse?"

Ireland's eyes widened. "How in the hell do you expect to get us inside the base, and then out to attack? I doubt that the plane will be allowed within the ten miles mentioned as the no fly zone."

"Not _in_ the base, Ireland," he cut in, "but _on_ it in the least. The bulk of us will be inside the cargo plane, permitting that Mister Cambridge will fly us in. He will say that the notams were _unchanged_ before his arrival, and so he has gone under the assumption that flights were still permitted."

"We'll be discovered though," the armorer persisted. "After that, they'll lock us in and have their way with us _and_ our careers!"

"Not if either _a_, they have the girls rounded up on the runway, or _b_, they are spread throughout the base. Also, as I mentioned before, we will have the _bulk_ of the people on board the larger aircraft," he continued. "There will be two exceptions, those being Perrine, who will fly along with us with strikers, and Lynne, who will be playing the part of _escort fighter_."

Ireland shook his head. "What if it's a bluff? Let's say that there isn't a fighter waiting. We see opportunity in it, and land right? All goes off without a hitch... until we find out that the men were ordered to capture any unauthorized aircraft landing on base."

"Like a venus fly trap?"

"Exactly," James finished. "After that, either the girls get captured, or they escape. No good will come of it going off half-baked."

Turning his back to the men, Cameron sighed. "That's why we need Lynne. The plane will provide a cover for us, whilst I supply the excuse."

"And the excuse?" George pushed.

"We need one of the girls for that. Once we have it though... we can begin the operation, and the sweet taste of Maloney's effacement will soon be within our grasp."

As the three men continued to converse, the conversation began to descend into the minute details of the operation. Amongst the most prominent was the factor of being frisked for weapons, which was almost a complete certainty knowing that Maloney took steps to avoid being overthrown. Bringing the meeting to a pause, Cameron motioned for the armorer to rise with two fingers.

"Ireland?"

"Yes?"

Stepping forward, he came closer to James, and well within his arm's reach. "I want you to frisk me. Follow a normal method, as though ordered to frisk visitors to Her Majesty's residence. Be _meticulous_."

"Any reason why exactly?" he asked.

"You'll see," he said with a smirk. "Just do it."

Taylor soon found himself feeling like he'd been run over a washboard. Ireland's hands went _everywhere_, not a snigle appendage bearing exception. The frisk went on for nearly two minutes, until finally Ireland's hands ended their invasion. Stepping back, he brushed them on the sides of his jumpsuit.

"Sorry about privacy issues, but you got what you asked for."

"It was exactly what I wanted," Cameron replied. "It allowed me to determine something that's been nagging the back of my mind for awhile."

"And what was that?"

"Well, let me ask you James," he inquired, "what is the one place that you failed to check? The one place where most wouldn't consider hiding something. In my day in age, of course, they check everything. In the forties though, you all seem to be a bit lax."

The armorer stared silently, and scratched his head. He returned to his seat, and continued to think, his face a mask of concentration. After a few minutes, he looked up.

"I can't think of a bloody thing!"

Cameron grinned. "Use your head Ireland," he said in a low tone.

"What? You think I've been sitting here with it up my arse for the past time?"

"No, no, no!" Cameron said, waving his hands and shaking his head. "No, I mean it. _Use_ your _head._"

Again, Ireland was puzzled. He took in Cameron's words for a few moments, and stared down at the cement floor. Suddenly, his eyes widened.

"_Brilliant!_"

"Did you get it?"

Ireland nodded vigorously. "We _never_ check hats! Ever! I mean sure, someone could hide a bomb or something, but as far as I have known we've never checked hats."

"Precisely! It's because everyone assumes that nothing short of a top hat can be used to smuggle in a weapon. The weight would make it fall off."

With a smile, Ireland shook his head. "So, you sneaky little bastard. How do you intend to get this in? Obviously, it's too big to balance on your head."

"Simple," Cameron replied, eyeing George Cambridge's hat. "A peaked cap should do the trick."

In response, the pilot roared with laugher. "Ha, ha, ha! Well, you _ain't _usin' mine!"

Cameron nodded, and turned to Ireland. "Well James, what do you think? Could you get ahold of something for me? Without requisition forms?"

Ireland nodded. "Most certainly! How soon do you want it?"

"As soon as possible," he replied. "In fact... I want you to meet me on the plane with it."

The men rose from their seats, and shook hands.

"To the hope of a successful mission," Cameron stated.

"To the five-hundred first," Ireland added.

"And to putting our boots up Maloney's ass!" Cambridge finished gruffly.

The men broke then, and Cameron stepped back. Looking around the hangar, he gestured to the bay doors.

"Ireland!"

"Yes?"

"I need these opened! Get your men to work!"

"Sir!" he said with a brief salute, before disappearing.

With a grin, Cameron then turned to the pilot.

"Mister Cambridge?"

"What?" he asked, gruffly.

"Can you warm up the freighter please? I believe we should depart with the utmost haste!"

Cambridge stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked down, shaking his head. "Alright... I guess I'll do this. However, if my ass gets burned, and the same becomes of my plane... you _will_ die. Do I make myself clear?"

"_Certainly,_" Taylor replied with a kind smile. "Clear as crystal."

Watching silently, Cameron stood as the bear of a pilot strode off. Once the door to the hangar slammed closed, he then turned and gazed about the empty building. Again he began to wonder about Lynne's whereabouts, and so he began to search.

"Lynne?" he called out. "Lynne, are you in here? I have some things I must ask you!"

He began to walk around the hangar, searching along the walls. He checked the corners, and the kitchen, planning to leave the hangar if she was not found. Again, he called out to her.

"Lynette, where are you?" he said with a rise in tone. "Please, it's urgent that I speak with you!"

He stopped, and let his voice echo through the building. It resonated slightly, dying away as it seeped through the sheet metal walls and framework. As he began to move again, there was a sudden sliding sound. A canopy slammed against its stops, and the sound of the short side-door to a Spitfire creaked. The sound, he realized, had come from _his_ fighter. He began to walk back to the kitchen, his stride quickening.

"C-Cameron?" her voice called out with a slight moan. "Cameron, where are you?"

He came around the wing of another man's fighter, his own coming within his field of vision. Slowly, the feeling of urgency began to ebb away, and he strode up to the wing where Lynne sat on the edge of the cockpit; the dark green and red of her thigh-high socks disappearing over the edge, her legs slung over into the cockpit with her back to him.

"Ah, Lynne!" he said as he stopped near the wing. "I have a few questions for... Lynne? Are you alright?"

He had halted his inquiry, an odd feeling coming across as he looked at her. He had half expected her to turn, smiling, and to face him when he approached. Instead, however... Lynette's head hung low, and her back bowed forward. The long braid of her hair hung still, and limp, over her shoulder. She made no effort to reply.

"Lynne?" Cameron prodded as he jumped onto the wing. "Are you alright?"

He crouched down on her left side, and put his hand on her back. Leaning forward over the cockpit, he turned so as to get a view of her face. What he found, however, made him suck in a breath with sudden concern.

"_Lynne!_" he burst with fear.

Lynette showed no reaction to his outburst. She instead stared, blankly, at the interior of the cockpit. Her face was flushed, its color a bright red on her cheeks. Her eyes were glazed over, blank and expressionless. Something was, quite obviously, wrong.

"Lynne!" he barked, shaking her slightly.

Instead of the expected response, an opposite reaction came; her muscles immediately relaxed. Her eyes falling shut, Lynne slumped forward into the cockpit. Cameron grunted, and went into the small space after her inert form. There was a dull thud as she struck the opposite side of the fuselage, and Cameron quickly tried to twist her in the seat.

"Lynette! Jesus Christ, speak to me!" he pleaded as he began to work with her body, a fear building in his gut as though he had swallowed ice. "Lynne!"

In his life thus far, Cameron had never known a fear like this before. Lynne was like a ragdoll, and her head rolled on her shoulders as he leaned her back in the seat. Once she was propped up correctly, he then reached under her long, slender legs and eased them onto the foot pedals. Though feeling through thigh-high socks, he was alarmed by how cold to the touch Lynette's body seemed to be.

"Jesus, you must be _freezing_!" he whispered, quickly shrugging from his uniform.

As Cameron dropped the heavy uniform over Lynne, he jumped with a start when a loud bang resonated from the hangar door. Almost as a repeat of the previous night, the huge doors began to rumble apart, revealing a blinding light inbetween. Instinctively, Cameron huddled over the open canopy, trying his best to shield an unconscious Lynne. Over the deep and loud thunder, he could faintly hear the armorer calling for the men to heave.

"IRELAND, GET OVER HERE!" Taylor shouted fiercely over the rumble, glancing over his shoulder.

He watched silently as the doors continued to open. Unheard, he pounded his fist on the canopy edge in anger.

"Lynne, wake up! _Please!_" he urged again. "We must depart for Dover soon!"

Once more, Cameron tried to shake her to consciousness.

"LYNNE!"

* * *

Cold air. Bright, pale light. Through closed eyes... still blinding. A sharp contrast, pulling her, urging her to wake.

Lynette's eyes fluttered open.

"What... where..." she groaned. "Where... am I?"

She blinked; once... twice... three times. Her vision cleared, and she could see. Her vision beheld a white ceiling, with a wooden trim around the top edge. Below the trim, a blue and white wallpaper was plastered to the wall, it's design being an ornate flower pattern. Her mind slowly gathered the definition of her surroundings, she processed it all, she blinked again. Finally, she came to a realization. She was home.

She sighed happily, and closed her eyes. She was warm, and she had been in bed. Pulling her hands from beneath the white sheets, she pushed her fingertips under her bangs, and ran her hands through her hair. The braid had been loosed, and her locks hung free. She had missed it all for so long... it was almost a forgotten memory, being home. Eagerly she pushed herself up to a sitting position. The sheets fell from her chest, and revealed a pink nightgown.

"I'm... home!" she whispered to herself.

She began to look at her surroundings, all coming back to memory now. The big, dark oaken door, the narrow window to her left... she realized then, covered with snow. Flakes danced by the window. In one corner, a beautiful yet aged desk, with old chair behind, once her father's. She remembered then... her parents.

"Mum? Dad?" she called unknowingly. "Where are you?"

Awaiting a response, she sat in bed a few moments. So dearly she wanted to see her parents, so long had she waited, that her stomach began to turn. In a nauseated desparation, throwing back the sheets, Lynne slid her legs over the edge of the bed. Again she called, louder this time.

"_Mum?_ Please, are you there?"

She began to walk to the door of her bedroom. Moving forward, step by step, she made it halfway across the room. At that moment, the door opened. Lynne stopped where she stood.

"Hun, are you alright?" asked the woman in the doorway with concern. "Is there anything wrong?"

The woman standing before Lynne was slightly taller than she was. Her hair, which was loose on the edges and braided in the back, shone in the the light; its color a dark red brunette, like a red wine. Her eyes were colored grey, but shone with a strong suggestion of an aged wisdom and feminine charm. These eyes were complimented by a complexion similar to Lynne's, but with slightly sharper features which gave a commanding air about her. Currently, she wore a red v-necked sweater, with sleeves that stopped at her forearms, a black skirt which dropped just below the knees, and a plain white apron. A towel was tucked in a pocket on the front of the apron.

"_M... Mu... Mum?_" Lynne said weakly.

She blinked once, a hot tear emerging from the corner of her eye. The tear, as though sentient, began to creep down her cheek. It followed the natural depressions and creases in her skin, and began to gain speed like a length of rope sliding over the edge of a ship's rail. It suddenly rolled down to her chin, and hung suspended. Another tear came, and began to move on the opposite side. Soon, it too joined the other, and together they fell to the hardwood floor.

"_Mother! _Oh how I've missed you!" she exclaimed in tears.

Without a thought, she ran to the woman, and wrapped her arms around her. She laid her head on her mother's chest, and held on for dear life as she shuddered and wept.

"Oh Lynne..." she cooed, putting her arms around her daughter. "It's alright... you're safe now. Mum's here now, don't you fret."

The young girl continued to weep, mother and daughter holding each other close. With a pat on the back of her shoulder, Lynne's mother began to rub her back. Lynne only held her tighter in response, continuing to cry. She felt sick to her stomach, feelings gathered from the entirety of her service career coming forth in this ultimate moment, all overwhelming.

Lynne continued to heave in her mother's arms, and the elder Bishop continued to soothe the other. After a few minutes time, Lynne's mother placed her right hand on the side of her daughter's head, and held her against her bosom.

"Alright dear... it's going to be okay," she said in a soothing tone. "Your father is waiting downstairs for you. He's been eager to see you after all this time!"

With all the strength she could muster, Lynne swallowed her tears. The action increased her nausea slightly, and also created a pain in her chest.

"I should hope so!" she said with a hoarse laugh. "We can... trade stories like the other old warbirds!"

With care, Lynne cautiously released her hold on her mother. In return she too backed away, and then leaned forward. Lynne recieved a kiss on the forehead, which was followed by her mother's careful gaze.

"Alright Lynne... I'm going to go downstairs, and carry on with breakfast alright? If you need me, don't be afraid to call for me."

"Okay," she replied with a tearful nod.

With a soft smile, her mother finally turned away for the door.

"I love you," she said over her shoulder.

Lynne nodded. "I love you too."

Finally, Lynne's mother opened the door and disappeared through the doorway, shutting it after herself. Lynette remained standing in the center of her room for a few moments, her mind blank. She knew nothing of what to do... everything was so sudden. Shakily, she took a breath and turned back to the bed, brushing the wrinkles from her nightgown.

"I've just... I've got to sit down..." she thought to herself. "I'm home, thank God!"

Returning to the bed, Lynne turned to sit on the wrinkled sheets. Tiredly, she flopped backward onto the bed, stretching her arms out as she fell...

...onto cold, hard metal. She was suddenly alarmed by the change, and looked at the bedsheets. The sheets, though wrinkled by her weight, were unchanged. Her back, however, was resting against some metal object, invisible to her eyes. She struggled to move, but her body continued to fall limp, failing to respond.

"What? What's going on? NO!" she shouted.

Suddenly, the room began to fall apart. Lynne watched with horror as things began to appear that were not there in the previous moment. Airplane parts, gauges, a canopy... all started to appear around her. So inexplicable was the moment, that Lynne did not care that the laws of physics were being defied before her. Suddenly, her expression changed... once a pained look of concern, now the face of a mental patient; haggard, desparate, wild-eyed. With fear, Lynne screamed in hysteria, calling for salvation.

"Mum! Dad! NO! PLEASE, HELP ME!" she shrieked.

The world only seemed to disintegrate at a more rapid pace. She struggled fiercely against her inert limbs, twisting and fighting where she sat. She felt her body moving again, slowly leaning backward. She fought and fought, and called once more.

"DADDY!"

Her heart hammered against her ribcage, it's pace quickening to levels that would frighten most doctors. So much fear had built within Lynne, that she was on the verge of vomiting, and going into shock. Lynette found her body was beginning to tire, and she fought desparately to hang on. So much did she want her father, so desparately, that she willed his appearance to be; a desparate wish that the sheer might of it would have brought him before her. Once more, poor Lynette began to cry; her nose beginning to run, and a headache beginning to create an inexhaustible pressure within her skull. All seemed to be disappearing now... her hopes and dreams fading quickly. It had been a lie it seemed, a horrible, horrible lie.

"_Daddy_..." she forced through the tears, barely a whisper. "I'm sorry!"

Slowly Lynne began to fade from consciousness. A darkness began to encroach on the edges of her vision; flickering, moving, and changing. Slowly, like a great sheet rippling in the wind it began to darken her view of the world, traveling farther and farther. As the last bits of light began to fade away, a shadow passed over her. The shadow was a distant, yet familiar form... a human form. The unknown person, now just a silhouette, tried speaking to Lynne as she fought the darkness, it's voice merely a muffled tone. With a finality, Lynne gave the last of the effort she had remaining. She struggled after the faint form, and tried to speak again. She knew not who it was, nor did she care as she forced her arms to move. Finally, and yet seemingly far too late, she had regained use of her arms. Reaching forward, she went for the form in desparation.

"_Dad! Please, wait!_" she pleaded.

With hope surging through her heart, Lynne was overjoyed when she made contact with the form. Before it could disappear, she wrapped her arms around it. Whoever it was was warm, solid, and alive. For Lynette, it was a sanctuary to be had during her final moments...

...as her vision blacked out.

* * *

Gray haze was all that could be seen now, as the coastal fog banks rolled in from the Atlantic Ocean and the English Channel. All towns, villages, and cities were swallowed in the wake of the grey mass. Once inside, visibility was almost instantly reduced to a mere ten to fifteen feet, making both flying and driving difficult. On top of the fog, a freezing cold hovered in the air of the Britannian countryside, a temperature of around twenty to thirty degrees. Despite being a warmer cold, the remaining dampness in the air permeated most clothing layers, and soon most were shivering with a damp cold. As a result, many people were wrapped as tightly and warmly as a Russian soldier... or Orussian, depending on which world you wish to refer to.

Cameron now sat alone at a desk in one of the quanset hut buildings that comprised the structures of RAF Westhampnett, which now too was covered in the heavy shroud. The building had been heated to a much warmer temperature, the heat provided by a couple of space heaters placed nearby. The interior was lit by a dim but warm light, which came from a series of large glass lightbulbs suspended from heavy cables which snaked the length of the building's ceiling. Cameron was hard at work, furiously scribbling away at a rough yet detailed report with a shiny black fountain pen, taking care not to ruin the nib on the pen. He had only used one such pen before, long ago, when his mother had allowed him to borrow hers.

A few hours earlier, Cameron had shielded Lynne from the cold as the great bay doors thundered open. Ireland had then strode in, cheerily, to inform Taylor on the mission's developments, unknowing of the fact that he had made himself cannon fodder for the boy's temper. Upon reaching the wing, Cameron had torn poor James apart. After a heated exchange of words, and a brief apology, the men had quickly removed Lynne from the cockpit and transferred her to a medical barracks on base. The on-base doctor had gone through a meticulous examination of the unconscious witch, and gradually grew more concerned as he delved further into the symptoms. Cameron turned away, his stomach in knots, as the doctor carried on. After about fifteen minutes, the doctor had tapped him on the shoulder. Facing him, Cameron was dismayed to find the doctor's lips pursed, and a look of defeat over his features.

"Ah... Mister Taylor?" he said in an upper-crust accent.

"Yes, sir?"

"I have some... disheartening news... about Lynne. If you'll give this old man a few minutes to explain, I'll try to put it as lightly and accurately as I can."

Cameron had then nodded for the man to continue, which he did. Before starting the conversation, the man introduced himself as an advanced practicioner who had been working in a London military hospital before being drafted into a medical unit. Taylor listened carefully to the doctor's words, and seemingly engraved each one into his memory as the man worked into the situation.

"It's overstress of the mind. A certain combination of emotional and physical traumatic events, which established a latent trigger," he explained. "Her mind overloaded, and even her senses have been dulled. Her pupils took some time to dilate, and she hardly even responded to me. Normally, these things take a great amount of time to develop. Usually, they develop in to something _harmless_, like depression or post-traumatic stress disorder. This is using the term lightly, however."

With a silent understanding, Cameron nodded back. "So enlighten me, please. What in the hell is going on now?"

The doctor cleared his throat, and continued. "Yes, getting to that. You see, there have been very few cases of this happening, or the many that have happened have gone undocumented. The field of neurology is still in its infancy, I'm afraid, but I used to be the authority on the matter when I practiced civilian medicine," he continued.

He had then turned in his seat, and held his hands up. Speaking as he worked, he depicted the terms and events as he explained them.

"Now, Mister Taylor, this is what happened. You see, the human mind is essentially a computing device, something which is quite literally wired together by a series of nerves and muscles."

"And of course, it too like a computer is fired by electrical impulses," Taylor interrupted.

"Yes, you are correct. However, like anything else, the human mind can be overloaded. As an additional factor, it's especially vulnerable when still in development at a human being's young age, like Lynette for example," he said motioning to the girl, now asleep on a nearby bed.

"So knowing this, Doctor..."

"Oh, I forgot to give my name. Name's Jonathan Ellington."

Cameron nodded. "So knowing this Doctor Ellington, I'm going to assume that Lynne's mind has undergone some sort of... mental breakdown, and that this was caused by an emotional and physical overload of great pressure, correct?"

The man nodded profusely, surprised by the latent knowledge he had acquired. Little did he know that it had been from a high school biology class. "I must say, you _are_ well-versed. Yes, you are correct."

"So John, if this is true why do I sense puzzlement in your tone? I too am confused, simply because I know from mere observation that the human mind has failsafes. This is why people faint under fear or stress, in order to shed the overload safely without a breakdown. In fear however, if one does not pass out or shut down, they may die from immense mental stress."

"It's because..." he said in a finality, "a witch's mind is wired much differently from the human mind. This is why they are enabled with their perception, cognition, and generation abilities far beyond our own. This is why their shields exist. They have such a high advancement of mental capacity that they can actually visualize these things. With magic, they bring them to being. Us, however? We sculpt, build, and paint these things. The objects around us bare testament."

The conversation had spiralled downward, with many reassurances of which Cameron was certain the doctor could not back. After a few more minutes of speaking, the doctor had excused himself from the perimeses and left. The future, now seemingly as bleak as a wind-blown desert, had presented itself to him. The master of the skies, the young man in an old world, once powerful... now powerless. His face now bore a distraught look, haggard and dead. As he continued, his hands began to shake, and his writing on the page began to degrade into an unintelligible scribble. With a sigh, he capped the pen and ceased his work, turning in his seat to the bed behind him.

"Christ Lynne..." he said with a sigh, head in hands. "Please, forgive this poor bastard."

As he sat silently, with a girl he knew very little of, Cameron's tired mind began to reflect on the past few days. He had been literally thrown into this new world, under circumstances that not one person could explain. He had encountered a different people, all his age... they flew, they feared, they felt, they loved... they fought. One of them, he had kept safe in the word. One who was important to many others. Both had become attached to each other, it seemed like the few days past had been months.

And yet... they still held a barrier. Neither pushed the other. The barrier once more returned him to the fact that it had only been a few days. But still they had been days spent together, a forced company. In the short time of living with this complete stranger, he had learned many things about her; mannerisms, physical properties, abilities, a personal secret or two. He had become acquainted with her friends as well. Her life read like a grand novel, the main character being an innocent girl plunged into a war-torn world with loving friends and family. Suddenly, as a plot twist some dashing idiot in shining aluminum shoots from the clouds, and her life is a shambles.

Pushing his fingertips into his eyes, Cameron leaned back and drew his hands over his face. He still refused to blame himself completely, due to one simple fact. A fact, so clear and so simple, that even Lynne would understand. If Cameron had not appeared... she would not be alive at that moment. She would be dead, body broken, ripped apart, in the cold frozen woods.

He took the time to fight his own thoughts, and tried desparately to convince himself that he could do more. Even the report he had been writing proved this. It was a gamble, soon to be sent to a higher command. Another message would be sent to the man in Dover, Trevor Maloney, as a way to distract. At the bottom of his heart, Cameron dearly hoped that six-ten would serve as cannon fodder for Maloney, and be saved by the grace of the brass above them. Maloney absolutely had to be put down.

Before Cameron could carry his thoughts forward, a gentle moan broke his thoughts. Rubbing his eyes, he sat upright in his seat and turned to face the bed. Lynne began to mumble in her sleep, and Cameron listened.

"_Dad... daddy, I'm sorry!_" she said forlornly.

Just seeing Lynne made his heart hurt. With sympathy, he rose from his seat and stretched, his back stiff from sitting and writing. Quietly, he shuffled over to the bedside, and looked down at Lynne. Upon seeing her face, he felt as though his heart had been torn from his chest. Silently, tears ran from her eyes in a steady stream, glistening in the light. Lynne did not heave, or move as she cried, nor did she shudder with emotional pain. Her face was molded into a slight grimace, but still the expression was soft. Cameron could hardly remain on his feet.

"Please Lynne, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Being as gentle as he could be, he gently reached down and placed his hand on her cheek. With a sigh, he carefully wiped the tears away on the first cheek, and then the other. Rising again, he was surprised to find her reaching forward.

"_Dad, please wait!_" she cried softly.

He lingered a moment longer, and weighed his emotions, thoughts, and otherwise. Though surrounded by friends and in a safe haven, Lynne still seemed to have noone. Nobody to love... nobody to protect her... nobody to comfort her. And so knowing this, Cameron eagerly returned to her, leaning forward into her embrace. One a complete stranger to the other, yet both helping each other.

Upon contact, she closed her arms around him and held tightly, grasping for dear life. She then buried her face into his chest, and began to weep, surprisingly still in a non-conscious state. In response, Cameron also wrapped his arms around her, and held as tight as he could without hurting her, putting his chin on her shoulder.

And then... he too began to cry.

**Author's Note- And then the author too... began to wonder about his content. Was it a bit much? A bit too... over the top maybe? I think not! When I was writing this chapter, I found myself sick to my stomach half of the time. I don't know why either... Anyway, comments please! I'm enjoying reading them!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note- Well, in the same day that I finish the seventh chapter I move on to the next. I'm glad that I'm getting readers and response for works that I put my mind into, as well as a hard devotion. Anyway, here's the next chapter everyone! As always, read and review.**

Through The Storm

Chapter 8-

Over one-hundred miles away, nobody was having any sort of personal moments. As with the south-end coastline, another separate blanket of fog covered the short, rounded end of a peninsula which jutted out into the ocean from the main British Isles. The peninsula, if one were to address it as such, was like any other section of the country; playing host to farmland, cities, villages, and other mainstays. These however, were not the primary features of the peninsula. This was due to the fact that the peninsula, which was still a rather large landmass, was a thing which jutted far into the English Channel and something which effectively bottlenecked the sea route between the French, or Gallian, continent and the islands. It was also the narrowest point between the two landmasses.

Many years before, boats and ferries as well as freighters would run between the islands and Gallia at this narrow point, ferrying imports and exports as well as passengers traversing to see family and friends, the sights and sounds, or the great white chalk cliffs for which the area was well known. It was something that had happened for centuries, the first vessels possibly being of Roman origin; the same people from whom the dear country recieved its namesake. Now the sea lanes were long deserted, the only vessels being military traffic or fishing boats. Boats and ships generally hugged the shoreline of Britannia, much like those sailing the river separating the halves of Korea hugged the southern shore as much as they could to avoid being "made dead in an instant, courtesy of an evil dictator." In this case... the dictators were aliens.

This area, the strait, and its cliffs, was and is Dover. Best known in this world and Cameron's for the white chalk cliffs, Dover and its nearby strait were once a crucial point in commerce for the trade between Gallia and Britain. Now, the only crucial purpose the area served was a military and strategic one. Many an airbase dotted the area here and there, amongst those serving the area being RAF Westhampnett, though only as a starting point. These bases however, were only a minor presence despite being numerous in number and force. The true power lay in only one lone wing and many like it; one which took the grandest of frontline stations.

The Five-Hundred First Joint Fighter Wing.

The wing, comprised of young girls from eight of the world's well-known countries and superpowers, was engaged with the mission to protect and serve the Britannian coastline not for His and Her Majesty, but as a due service to mankind. With occasional aid from the surrounding squadrons, the 501st's goals were to eliminate or assault any threat which presented itself from the Gallian coast with a mental flexibility which never ceased to astound, constantly adapting to the drastically changing and morphing threat. These threats came in the form of Neuroi.

The base of the fighter wing was located approximately three miles north of the seaside town of Dover. At this specific point, a portion of the cliffs dipped down and smoothed into the ocean, making a brief section of coastline with a slight protrusion. This protrusion carried on into the sea, where it connected with an extremely narrow and miniscule causeway which flooded at high tide. Just wide enough to fit a two-lane road, the causeway was the primary mode of travel from the shore to the island to which it connected, where land-based transportation was concerned. The only two other accesses were via boat, or by air, which was the primary of the three.

The island, though small, was still a very large and commanding feature of the landscape. When viewed from certain angles, it seemed to be a great stone battleship, or a huge bastion placed off the shore of Britain, sitting stationary in the strait. Similar in construction to the famous Mont Saint Michel of France, the Britannian base of the 501st was a massive creation of cut stone and centuries old architecture, and originally was held by the residence of monks and witches from years past. Abandoned and eventually maintained as a historical structure of the Britannian government, the facility was restored and re-opened as a military base in the year 1940, following the initial invasions by the Neuroi. Thus far, the stone fort had performed it's purpose well, protecting those who served to protect. As of now, however... it held them as captives.

Below, unseen waves slammed into the stone walls and rockface, which were shrouded in a thick fog. The gray haze was wet and heavy, and settled as low as it could go over the surrounding land and seascape as it spread from the sea and over the cliffs. Surprisingly however, as though in protest, the great fortification stood valiantly above the fog as though rising through clouds. The air was extremely damp and salty, and a chill breeze blew the fog into a flurry which would thicken and fade in sudden instances. To those in the fog, it was a depressing and deatly purgatory. To those above the clouds however... it was beautiful, and serene, and warm. It was at this level that the sunshine reached the damp sea air, making it warm and comfortable, almost relaxing.

All these things beckoned like a mother calling to her child, urging anyone near to a seaside sanctuary, mother nature calling her own to her bosom. And all called extremely loudly now, as Britannian Air Marshal Trevor Maloney bellowed point-blank into the face of the 501st's Commanding Officer. She was a beautiful example of human creation and grace, the Commanding Officer. Her features eminated a feeling of understanding and wisdom, eyes appearing like those of a person who had seen more of life than any other. At eighteen years, she had seen combat duties even before the Neuroi war. She was slightly taller than the others, and had hair which was a darker shade of Sangria red, like the wine of the same namesake. With many curves and accents to her features, Minna was similar to the many lounge singers and performance singers who would have sang when your parents' parents' parents were around. Her body language alone eminated a strong, almost motherly or sisterly air to those in her presence. Serving under the Karlslandic military, Minna-Dietlinde Wilcke had originally commanded JG-3 Fighter Wing of the Karlsland Air Force. When the Joint Fighter Wings were formed by Britannian Air Marshal Dowding at the beginning of the Neuroi battles, Minna had been suddenly thrust into command of the 501st without warning. Unsure of the sudden reassignment, she had eventually grown to tolerate, and later love, her new assignment. This now all seemed to be crumbling in her hands now, with the sudden and uncontrolled change in development. Maloney had been chewing into her for information, much like a dog with a bone... for two days.

"So, Commander," spat a stern and angry upper-crust voice. "Explain this predicament, this... debacle if you will. Why did you lose two of your own with such a simple mission?"

The voice came from a man pacing before Minna's desk, who now wore the dress uniform of Britannian Air Chief Marshal. The man, or bastard, was Trevor Maloney. With a neatly trimmed moustache, and squared, hardened face, the man seemed to be the personification of discord itself. Looking at Minna, his mischievous eyes were shadowed by the brim of his peaked cap, positioned to diliberately create the effect. As he spoke, he grinned like a hyena.

"You know _damn well_ what the problem is, Maloney!" She toned back in reply.

In response, the man crossed his arms behind, and turned his back to her. "Hmm... I _do_ do I?" he asked with feigned ignorance. "I could be mistaken, but it seems that you are in no position to make such accusations. You could at _least_ return the favor of my intervention by cooperating."

Minna, who had been sitting, suddenly shot from her seat. The heavy desk chair toppled backward with a dull thump, causing Maloney to smirk. Minna slammed her hands on her desk, and shouted back.

"What goddamned favor, you bastard? Two of my people are probably dead now, because you have put us on lockdown! YOU KILLED THEM MALONEY! And to what end? Advancement of rank? WHAT EXACTLY?"

Maloney chuckled, and tears began to creep from Minna's eyes.

"I cannot say to what end this is motivated," he replied cryptically. "All soldiers are... expendable. You should know that as a commander, Minna. For all we know," he said with a snorting laugh, "those girls could be laying dead in the forest somewhere! A quick death of mercy!" he said, bellowing with laughter.

With the camel's back broken, Minna leapt over her desk in a teary-eyed rage. Snatching a dagger letter opener on the way across, she screamed at Maloney as she flew, uniform fluttering.

"TO HELL WITH YOU TREVOR MALONEY! I WOULD EAGERLY SACRIFICE MY OWN LIFE TO SEE THOSE LIKE YOU PUT TO DEATH!"

The man spun suddenly, his face a mask of shock. In a quick motion, Minna flicked the dagger in her soft hands, and slashed at Maloney's face hoping to strike her target. To her surprise, the dagger made contact and slashed, leaving a bloody gouge in the Air Marshal's right cheek. In her hope to subdue the evil man, the attack backfired. With a hysteric rage, the man suddenly gave a satanic grin, and knocked her hand away. Still falling toward him, Maloney took the simplest action to do the subduing. Leaning forward, he braced his shoulder. Minna collided and folded over, the air leaving her lungs with a whoosh. Moving quickly then, Maloney snatched the dagger from her grip, and clubbed her over the back of the head with the handle. Almost instantly, Minna sagged to the floor.

"Impressive!" he said, putting his fingertips to the profusely bleeding wound. "You actually nicked me! Be thankful you're not under my jurisdiction. I'd have you court marshalled and tried for treason."

With a chuckle and click of his heels, he turned for the door of Minna's office. Turning the cut crystal knob, he flung the door open. Before he could step out, however, Maloney was surprised to find someone waiting on the other side. The new arrival was a stern-faced girl, surrounded by two Britannian Army grunts, who wore the uniform of the Imperial Japanese Navy. Long black hair drawn into a pony tail, she stared up at Maloney with an expression of contempt, and subtle surprise upon seeing the gouge in his face. She currently held a tray with steaming tea and rice balls.

"Ah... Major Sakamoto. What on earth are you doing out of your cage?" he asked.

Looking down, and appearing humble, Sakamoto frowned. "I convinced your sentries to allow me access to the kitchen, under guard," she explained. "I was bringing some refreshements for the both of you... it had been so long."

"Aha. What a humble and respectful gesture! Thank you!" Maloney said mockingly. "You know how to respect your elders much more than your superior. She decided to attack me, and somehow wound up in a heap on the floor."

Major Sakamoto sucked in a breath in shock. "I... I'm... so sorry! I apologize for my Commander's action, sir," she said as she bowed her head.

Maloney frowned. "That's not your decision to make... however... in my graces I'll accept your apology," he said smiling. "Now if you will please excuse me, I believe that Minna needs medical attention. Goodbye."

The man then disappeared down the hallway. The whole time, the Major glared vehemently into the back of his uniform, as though her glare alone could set the man aflame. Shaking her head with obvious disgust, she turned to the open door of Minna's office. Turning to the sentries, she gestured to Minna's limp form.

"Why?" she asked, calmly and quietly. "Why do you do these things? Work for this man? The way he treats his subordinates, it disgusts me."

The sentries, who normally ignored their prisoners' comments, listened to the Major. Without a word, both subtly let their gaze shift to the office behind from under their combat helmets. What they saw was horrifying, and soon the men too were disgusted.

"I believe it's our turn to apologize as well, miss," one of them replied, removing his hat. "We didn't have a choice in the matter though... the government owns us," he continued sorrowfully. "So does Maloney. He'd have us in for treason or something of the like. If he were just another human being though... I'd strangle that twit myself."

Stepping into the office, the Major smiled over her shoulder. "Thank you. It's nice to know that some of you are human. If Maloney weren't dancing you like a puppet, we could talk some time over a sake."

Without a word, the man's only acknowledgement was a slight nod. "What a troublesome person, this Maloney," Sakamoto thought to herself.

Silently, she turned and shut the door with a soft click. With a sigh, Major Sakamoto then set the tea and rice on Minna's desk, and afterward made her way to her private bathroom, setting to moistening rags to awaken her commander.

The Air Marshal made his way down the stone corridors away from Minna's office. Everywhere he went, he would find at least one of his men stationed on guard. Smiling to himself, he watched as the men gaped at his bleeding wound. Though it burned and stung, still bleeding profusely, he knew he had won this one. Just another day, and the wing would be taken out of service.

With sadistic joy, he chuckled to nobody in particular as he threaded his way to the southern side of the great fortification. He admired the architecture absentmindedly as he passed through the nearby chapel and ossuary, and made his way through a narrow hallway. After a few moments time, he eventually came out into a large room, the Grand Degre, which housed a main stairs access to the three levels which comprised the base. Turning on his shined heels, he began to ascend the set of laid steps to the third level.

The top of the staircase terminated in the middle of the great church structure, in a cross-cut room called the transept. Here, Maloney saw high Romanesque windows, and tan stonework which made up the walls. Despite the fog, a warm and inviting light flooded the room as he paused for a moment, following the lines of the fitted stones. As he began to lose himself in thought, he then turned to his right, where a huge arched doorway lead into the next room; the command center of the base, formerly the choir room.

"Mister Maloney sir, thank goodness you're here!" called a voice from a nearby console.

The Air Marshal, broken from his gloating, glared as he searched for the man who had spoken. The man waved his hand vigorously to get his superior's attention, and soon Maloney brought his gaze upon him; the radio operator he had appointed to take over upon arrival. Calmly and arrogantly, he strode over to the man.

"Yes, what is it? Is this urgent?"

"Most certainly, sir! We just recieved a message from another squadron down south, RAF Westhampnett."

His superior's brow rose in interest. "Oh? That's a bit odd... someone like that contacting us. What's it say?"

Picking up a communications sheet, the radio man snapped the paper and cleared his throat to begin.

* * *

**A few hours earlier...**

If Lynne had known how long she and Cameron had held each other, she would have been shocked. Eventually, the two of them ended their sobbing as they basked in each other's comfort. Carefully, and with a shuddering sigh, Cameron gently freed himself from Lynette's grip. With a soft look and smile, he gazed upon her with a feeling of warmth and attachment.

"Lynne," he whispered to her tentatively, "I promise to get you home. I promise to hold you, and parade you about in front of Maloney to make him feel like the greatest of idiots."

Gently, he eased himself to a seat on the edge of her bed.

"Please, wake up soon Lynne. For me, for Perrine, for your squadron... and your friends."

He continued to sit on the edge of the bed, and stared at the floor. After the emotional breakdown, Cameron visibly appeared to be more relaxed, and felt it too. After a brief amount of time, he chuckled slightly as he eased himself to his feet.

"I've got a report to finish, or else I won't be able to keep my promise!" he thought to himself as he turned for the desk.

After a few steps, Cameron plopped down into the seat, and rolled his shoulders. Stretching his arms, he eventually reached for the pen and read through the existing text. After he was satisfied, Cameron moved to where he had left off on the page, and began to scribble furiously. He was working on desire and newfound resolve, a wish to win, a demand for the three of them; himself, Lynne, and Perrine, to make it back to base. As he worked, he heard the click of the latch on the entry door, and the soft squeak of its hinges as it swung open.

"James, is'sat you?" he mumbled as he worked. "I need you to come here for a moment."

The unknown person shut the door, and walked silently to Cameron's desk. With a grunt to clear his throat, he scribbled the last few words of the report, and read it through. With a satisfaciton which was both as smug as it was hopeful, he stacked the few papers together and tamped them on the desk into a neat stack.

"_Okay_," he said with a happy tone, using one arm to wipe the remains of the tears from his eyes. "We are ready to go!"

Cameron then turned in his seat and faced the person who had entered, assuming that as with earlier, it was the armorer. However, he was instead surprised to find not Ireland, but Perrine standing silently before him. As he looked upon her features, a sense of foreboding could be felt, and on top of that a subtle sorrow. Her head hung low. Her shoulders hung, limp. Cameron stared silently, as Perrine seemed anchored to the spot.

"Perrine?" he asked in a tone that was both quizzical, yet assuring. "How are you... doing?" he asked. "Been keeping the troops on the move?"

Her only response was silence. Sitting quietly, watching the young Gallian, Taylor waited expectantly for her reply; knowing full well that he was not the only person affected by Lynette's predicament. He was lucky, an optimist, someone who was understanding and willing to seek the opportunities of a situation, no matter how dire. Though not enlightened as to Perrine's history, Cameron felt a sense that the dear girl could not see things in the same light as himself. By simply catching a glimpse, the young pilot felt the horrors of which the Gallian had seen. Death, destruction, loss, and failure. All these recalled to memory now, seeing another friend in a lifeless state as a result.

"My, oh my," he said with a fatherly tone, rising to his feet with a sigh, "it seems I'm not the only one who's been having a bad go of it eh?"

Perrine remained where she was, her complexion shadowed in the dim light. Wordlessly, Cameron approached her, his stomach slowly turning itself to knots out of sympathy. Coming to a stop, he placed himself directly in front of her, and tried in vain to look into her eyes.

"C'mon now Perrine, I'm certain that things will turn 'round for us three!" he said in earnest, placing his right hand on her shoulder. "It's only a small bit of misfortune, she'll pull out."

Silently, he watched as her long, golden, ornately styled locks swayed; the only hint of the subtle nod she returned. With a warm and inviting smile, Cameron gave her shoulder a soft pat and gestured toward the bed.

"Why don't you join the two of us, take a seat and rest? Forget yourself for awhile. I can lend a hand if you want me to, seeing as I finished that report," he urged, circling around behind Perrine.

Coming around, he gently grasped both of her shoulders. With a soft push, he slowly began to guide the quiet and sorrowful young girl to a seat on a nearby vacant bed. Turning her around, he then pushed her backwards.

"Just sit," he said, easing Perrine onto the pressed sheets, "and relax. You need rest if we're to proceed any further, no sense in being destined to the same fate as Lynne here."

Cameron then turned, and sat down next to Perrine. Turning his head down, he too gazed at the floor, and allowed his eyes to wander.

"Do you want to talk?" he asked softly. "I'll lend you my ear if you want, I'm a good listener."

No response came, and Perrine continued to sit perfectly still.

"C'mon now Perrine, where's that bite of yours? That push, the commanding air? It's sad to see you so quiet you know," he said pleadingly. "Don't you believe me?"

When he finished, Cameron then draped his right arm over Perrine's shoulders, and pulled her close. He had expected a reaction, one wherein she would pull from his grip in anger... but he instead recieved no protest. Sitting silently, further surprise came when Perrine tilted her head, and rested it on Cameron's shoulder. As if in response _he_ then let his hand slide free, and drop to Gallian's side. Afterward, he then held her firmly above the waist.

"Let go of me..." Perrine mumbled.

Cameron chuckled. "_Now_ you say it? It's a bit late, isn't it Perrine?"

Wordlessly, the Gallian nuzzled her head further onto his shoulder. Cameron shook his head.

"Oh Perrine," he said with a sigh, "It's like you lie to yourself. I know nothing of your past... though I'm willing to listen. All I can say is that to _me,_ you seem like the type of person who must confide in others more often. I mean, _I_ understand. I'll give you the time."

After a moment of pause, Cameron felt Perrine's head shift on his shoulder. Looking to his right, his gaze was returned by a pair of seemingly golden eyes, the dim light intensifying the effect like the setting sun as it passed through the lenses of her spectacles. She stared calmly into his own blue eyes, contemplating what to reply with. Soon she blinked, and turned away again.

"Mister Taylor... what are your feelings... toward Lynne?"

Cameron lifted his head, and stared in contemplation at the opposite wall. He began to recall what had occurred in her company, and a slight smirk began to form at the corner of his lips.

"Well, I feel I can say she's a _friend_..." he said with a positive tone. "Even a close friend. I can certainly say that I like her, and there are many things about her that I find to be... quite wonderful."

The Gallian nodded. "Could you possibly even say... you love... her?" she continued carefully.

Cameron blinked, and stared off into space. "Well... in the common sense, yes I do. I love Lynne like a close friend, or a friend of the family," he explained. "In the protective sense, I agree as well. I'm sure anyone would, and most of six-ten squadron is in that mindset."

Perrine shook her head, and held up her hand. "No, you're beating around the bush Cameron. I mean... in the personal sense... the..."

"Intimate sense?" he finished without waver.

Perrine tensed slightly, shocked at how easily he stated the words, as though they were all too familiar. Slowly, she nodded. Cameron smiled, and looked down at the Gallian once more. A warm feeling seemed to radiate from his features, a mix of contemplation, certainty, and other things.

"Both my heart... and my mind... are in a state of indecision on that one. As of now, I simply say no, I do not love Lynette in an intimate sense... because it's only been a few days. Not only that, we have other things to focus on before romance, such as the current problem at hand. Also... I cannot bring myself to love somone such as Lynne, unless two conditions are satisfied."

"And what are they?"

"Firstly, I mustn't fall for human instinct. It cannot be borne of emphatuation, and lust. Lynne is worth much more than that; a fact I can declare with reverence. Secondly, if we do become close... my wish is that she returns the love I give. I do not wish to make it one-sided, nor do I wish to force her into it. If she were to say she loved me, and be absolutely certain, and truthful to herself over the matter... then yes, in an intimate sense I would love Lynne. In my world it'd be the same as launching a nuclear missile. There are two keys in a control room, and both must be turned. One man cannot turn the keys, for they only lock in the open position when turned in tandem. If one person were to set a relationship and control its course, then the world would be filled with broken hearts, and bastard children. Human suffering would be quite prevalent."

When Cameron finished, Perrine sat silently for a few minutes. Eventually, she broke the ice with a sigh and shut her eyes. Cameron released his hold on her, and Perrine reached toward her glasses, plucking them from where they rested on her ears and the bridge of her nose. Carefully folding the silver rims closed, she flopped backward onto the bed, casting her long silken hair messily about the sheets. Through slightly impared vision, she stared quietly at the ceiling.

"You're quite lucky, Cameron," she said kindly and softly. "It makes me jealous, knowing how easily you seem to have found so many new friends, and how dearly you hold Lynette in particular."

Drawing in a breath before continuing, Perrine released a shuddering, emotion-laden sigh. Cameron continued to sit, his head hanging slightly as he listened.

"I... well... I am not as fortunate. There are very few people... that I have left. Even now, despite knowing they have survived... their fates are uncertain to me."

"I see," he replied with a nod.

"A number of years ago... this part of the world was attacked," she continued. "So was the opposite side, but with little success. I was younger then, much more innocent. I had so much more I could hold dear... family, friends, potential lovers... my life, once at peace was wonderful. I was once very wealthy as well, but now I've devoted the accumulated riches to a worthier cause. The person you see before you is only a facade, or a shell of the former."

Cameron nodded. "I can see that, especially by your mannerisms and dress... and in my opinion, you've probably got more class by giving it all up for others, unlike those normally in your level of society. Where you're coming from I can easily understand... how drastically and horribly things changed. What family name did you carry?"

"Pardon?"

Cameron looked over his shoulder to Perrine. "Your last name... I've never heard it."

Perrine nodded. "Oh? I see. My last name is Clostermann. Pierrette-Henriette Clostermann is my full, proper name."

Cameron nodded. "I like it, it has a certain flow to it. I believe the first part... the feminine version of the name Pierre, if I'm not mistaken."

Perrine nodded. "Yes, that's correct."

Cameron chuckled. "You know, this is sort of getting wierd. In my world, there was a pilot named Pierre Clostermann. He was an ace pilot, and got a bunch of medals. A Grand-Croix of the French Légion d'Honneur, the Cross of War again from France, a Distinguished Flying Cross from the Brits, a Distinguished _Service_ Cross from the US, as well as a Silver Star and an Air Medal, again both from the US."

Perrine shook her head with appreciation. "Amazing, what accomplishments! Medals from so many places! What squadron did he come from?"

"Well..." Cameron said, drawing from his stock of war knowledge, "I believe that when the war got hot, the Germans completely shot the French to hell. Ol' Clostermann tried to get into the Air Force, but was turned down, so he instead traveled to the United States to study as a commercial pilot. Once that was over with, he hopped back to Britain and joined his kin with the Free French Air Force. He trained at RAF Cranwell, and started off in number 341 Squadron, later moving up to 602 for a period between '43 and '44. After a bit of hell in '45, he eventually got a bar added to his DFC for a successful tour."

Perrine returned a feigned smile, and sat up. "That's quite an amazing background, for someone with my namesake. What was the latter squadron you said he was in?"

"Ah... 602 RAF, representing the Free French Air Force."

Perrine sat silently, and fixed a surprised and shocked stare at Cameron. "Six-oh-two squadron? That's..."

Before Perrine could finish, the door swung open. Surprised, the two of them turned to face the newcomer. This time, it was Ireland. With a slight wave, the armorer turned and shut the door. With a triumphant huff, he spun on his heel and faced the pair of eyes staring back at him.

"Oh, did I interrupt something?" he asked, sensing a change in mood.

"No, not at all!" Cameron shot back cheerily before the armorer could fit in another word. "Are you here for the documents?"

"Yes, are they ready?"

Cameron rose from where he sat, and turned to Perrine. Bending down, he stared into her eyes.

"We can discuss these things later," he said quietly. "Don't ever be afraid to confide in anybody, least of all _me._ I'm someone you can trust, simply because I do not know how long I will be present here. If for some reason, I do return home... it's like a man carrying secrets to the grave, you see?"

Perrine nodded. "Thank you, I'll remember that."

With a grin, Cameron spun and faced Ireland again. Nodding his head, he snatched the papers from his desk, and stuffed them into James' waiting hands.

"Alright James, let's get the ball rolling. If by chance it's time to go, and Lynne is not awake... I'll move her about myself. Whatever we do, she mustn't be here when Maloney arrives. I wouldn't put kidnapping past that devious bastard."

James smiled. "It's in your hands now, Cameron Taylor."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note- How'd the last chapter go? I figured that Perrine's bitterness, and embarassed reactions, were all a facade. I figured I'd try to carve into her and give you, the reader, a look into why this is so. War changes us all, and there are none who benefit. Only victims. Those who feel it has a benefit are either fighting for a worthy cause, or are only becoming more fanatically twisted with the power. It's insane.**

Through The Storm

Chapter 9-

The big engines of the DC-3 rumbled, echoing through the fog like a massive ghostly presence. The transporter sat where it had earlier come to a stop for the past couple of hours, awaiting its chance to leap into the sky once more. Cambridge sat idly, reading a book in the cockpit, whilst the flight crews had refueled the plane. During the hour following the dispatch of his messages, Taylor himself had carefully reworked the plan. With little time to spare, he made the simplest decisions possible, whilst still keeping some sort of insurance. In the meantime, he had questioned Perrine over the qualities and backgrounds of her fellow fighters, hoping for some sort of excuse to come of his presence.

"So, tell me the names of your wingmates, and their countries of origin," Cameron asked as he and Perrine readied the Spitfire, the deep rumble of pistons entering the hangar through the open doors. "Nicknames are important too, in case some of those boys know the girls personally."

Perrine nodded. "Yes, there are eleven of us. The wing has pilots from Karlsland, Fuso, Suomus, Orussia, Romagnia, Liberion, Britannia, and of course Gallia," she finished, gesturing to herself. "Three are Karlslandic, two are Fuso, and there are one of each from the other countries to fill in the gap."

Cameron threw back the canopy, and turned on the avionics. "Alright, that's good! I'm hoping to enter under the guise of a family member, so it gives me plenty to work with."

After checking the aircraft's systems, Cameron stopped and lingered over the open canopy. He began to think of what items he would want during the flight, and gave himself a moment to think. After the time had passed, he snapped his fingers, and leaned into the plane.

"Are there any from the United States?" he asked with a grunt as he went head first into the cockpit.

"_Yes_, I just told you!" Perrine replied, watching his feet stick up comically from the open canopy. "We have one Liberian within our ranks."

After a few moments of grunting and cursing, Perrine watched as Cameron reemerged from the cockpit. In his hands, he held two items which appeared unfamiliar to her.

Sliding from the wing, he faced the Gallian. "Well, you could be a bit more _understanding_. I'm not from here you know, so I don't know any countries apart from Britain and Britannia; on a whim I'll assume Gallia is France."

Perrine rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say, Cameron," she said sarcastically. "By the way, what did you grab from the plane just now?"

"What?"

"Those things in your hands... looks like one's made of leather."

Cameron glanced at the items, a black cap and sunglasses, and held them up with a puzzled look. "Oh, just some personal effects, my eight panel cap n' sunglasses," he explained. "Don't want to lose them if the plane goes down."

Perrine glared. "Was that an insult?"

"No, only a contingiency," he continued. "So... tell me about this _Liberian _witch, and explain the name of the country. I only know it as the United States of America."

Perrine tilted her head confusedly. "You mean Liberion, don't you? It's known as the United States of Liberion around here."

Cameron looked at the landing gear, and noted the chocks in front of the wheels. With soft grunts, he angrily kicked the blocks free.

"Sure Perrine, I'll take your word for it. What's the girl's name?"

"Charlotte Yeager."

He nodded as he returned to where Perrine stood.

"Nickname of any sort? Anything personal you know? What's her rank?"

"In a casual sense, we call her Shirley," Perrine explained. "She hails from the Liberion Air Force, though the organization is still in its infancy, so she's technically part of their Army Air Force. She holds the rank of Flight Lieutenant."

"Any close family? Get any visitors?"

Perrine shook her head. "Despite working with her for a few years I know very little of Yeager, other than she keeps one of our Pilot Officers, Francesca Lucchini, in check. She is particularly adament in her goal of fondling everyone's breasts."

"Charlotte?"

"No, Lucchini."

Cameron laughed, and shook his head. "What has come of this world? My god! You never heard of things like that when my grandfather was in service," he said with amusement. "Then again, in my world the people you call Britannians, Gallians, and Liberians were pitted against other people in a big slaughter, whilst Adolf Hitler shot 'Gallia' in the kneecaps and took the entire country in no time. Meanwhile in your world, the Allies are all of humanity, and the Rome, Tokyo, Berlin Axis are the aliens. It's almost like some sort of prank to me!"

With a sigh, he stared at the fighter for a few moments. He imagined what would occur, and what obstacles they would encounter. Finally, he shook his head.

"We... are ready," he said slowly turning to Perrine.

The Gallian's face turned to a mask of shock. "Wait, you're not... after one witch, you've already decided?"

Cameron nodded. "We're short on time. I'm dressed as an American, so an American I'll be."

The two faced each other, and stared for a moment. Cameron began to smile, as did Perrine, though only half-heartedly. The two glanced at the open hangar doors into the fog, and back again. It was time.

"Perrine!" he exclaimed suddenly, clicking his heels together and throwing a stiff salute. "Vive la Resistance!"

She stared blankly for a moment, and blinked. Soon enough however, Perrine began to laugh with amusement, and she too returned the salute with a chuckle and a smile.

"Yes, and good luck to you! Here's wishing a successful mission."

"And to you, a good flight," Cameron replied, shaking hands firmly with the Gallian. "You okay with a Spitfire?"

"I trained with the Free Gallian Forces in one, just like Lynette," she replied assuringly.

Cameron nodded, and began to head for the exit. "I'm going to get Lynne now, okay? The C-47 will be waiting at the end of the runway for you, with our strobes on. The tower will be monitoring their radar, and will inform us when Maloney shows up. As soon as he's on scope, we'll kill our lights and be off. Fly straight, and we'll meet above the clouds."

"Understood! Have you got my strikers?"

"Lashed down with the cargo!" he shouted as he disappeared around the corner.

As Perrine set to awakening the silent beast, Cameron quickly strode down the side of the runway. Traveling past a couple of barracks and an administrative building, he arrived at the medical barracks where he had been an hour earlier. Opening the door, he burst into the room with a vibrant flair. His mind was churning, his eyes had turned mischievious. He was savoring every opportunity, and this was his moment.

"Ah, Cameron!" Ireland greeted cheerily upon his arrival. "Are we ready to go?"

Cameron grinned sadistically. "Right-o Squiffy!" he exclaimed in unknown reference to Monty Python RAF banter. "We're going to taxi to the end of the runway, and take off when our opposition enters the airspace. This fog may be meddlesome, but it works to our advantage if we kill our running lights."

Ireland smiled. "That was a hell of a gamble, luring Maloney here. I'm surprised he took the bait."

Cameron nodded. "That man is the kind who likes to personally relish in a moment. He wouldn't have dared pass up the opportunity to ruin everyone's day, and flaunt it like a new suit or a diamond ring," he said coming to a pause. "Say, is Lynne awake?"

Ireland stared dumbly at Cameron. Waiting for a response, his brow rose in puzzlement when none came. Looking around Ireland, Cameron found he was sitting on one of the beds. Nothing in particular seemed to be amiss... or so he though. Scrutinizing the white pressed sheets, he suddenly realized what was different.

"What in the... hell?" he said with awkward surprise, seeing the wrinkled sheets and skewed pillow. "Where's Lynne?"

Ireland fixed his gaze upon Cameron and continued to wear the dumb look. Cameron glared at the armorer, and held his palms up to gesture around the room.

"Where is Lynne?" he asked again, expression showing confusion.

Ireland continued to stare silently. Cameron stared the man down, watching his expression with an uneasy curiosity. Staring, second after second... soon a minute had passed. He watched closely, still waiting for the answer, when suddenly there was movement. A tiny flicker on Ireland's face, barely noticed. A slight fear began to tingle in Cameron's extremeties, and a cold wash ran down his back. Taking a step backward, the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

"I-Ireland," he sputtered slightly. "Where's Lynne?"

At that moment, the armorer grinned instantly with a devilish look. Cameron's eyes widened, and he stumbled backward.

"Ireland! Answer the question!" he shouted.

His senses heightened, Cameron heard a shuffling from the shadows behind. Before he could spin around to face the assailant, the form lunged from the dark. Confusedly, he froze in his tracks like a trapped animal as a pair of arms wrapped around his torso. Hands meeting at his abdomen, they traveled past each other slightly as their fingers pressed into his gut. The thing 'sinched' itself now, wrapping its arms firmly, and pressing something soft against his back. Cameron, caught completely off guard, stood weakly as events continued to unfold. The sirens in his mind rang in a silent cacophony, his heart leapt into his throat, and his limbs refused to move. His mind had frozen in a surprised overload of confusion. Suddenly, and to Cameron's surprise... the thing spoke.

"_Surprise_," someone muttered softly into his ear with a giggle; a familiar sound soft and feminine with a native Londoner's accentuation.

Cameron remained still, holding his breath. The shock still gripped his mind, and he knew nothing of how to react. Eventually however, he relaxed.

"_Ooough_," he half-sighed and half-groaned, sagging in Lynette's arms.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Lynne began to laugh again. With a bitter look, Cameron freed himself and turned to face her with his lips pursed.

"_Not amused_, _Lynne!_" he said flatly. "You scared the hell out of me! I thought we had a spy!"

Ireland now wore an extremely bemused expression, smirking with his lips turned in a way which suggested the mind of a deviant who had just mooned the Prime Minister.

"She got you good, didn't she?" he said snorting with laughter.

Cameron glared at James, and looked away with a huff. "I don't know what to say, other than we're ready to go. The transport is ready and waiting, and our eyes are watching for Maloney's plane to show up."

Lynne nodded. "Well, I'm ready to go when you are!"

"Then let's do it!"

* * *

The trio left the barracks, and began to advance toward the distant aircraft. All that could be seen was a silhouette of the great aluminum behemoth, it's tri-blade propellers churning the cold and damp afternoon air. It's landing lights burned through the gloom, and it's navigational lights blinked in a steady rhythm.

"Alright Lynne!" Cameron shouted over the idling engines. "Ladies first!"

Walking closer to the aircraft, Taylor fell into step next to Lynne. Slinging his arm over her shoulders, he placed himself between her and the prop wash which gushed from the engines. Holding a hand up to block the cold winds, Lynne huddled close to Cameron as her braid flapped sidways in the blast. Eventually Cameron stopped at the lowered aft stairs, and gently urged and guided her into the plane with one hand. Once she was inside, he glanced over his shoulder. Ireland was making his way after them, and once satisfied, he joined Lynne in the 47s cabin.

"Sorry 'bout that," he said as he gazed about the cabin. "Wind-blown enough?"

Lynne huffed as she patted down the strands of her hair which had freed themselves. "Yes, thank you."

Cameron laughed, as Ireland clomped up the steps behind them. With a hiss of air pistons the door lifted shut by the armorer's hand, and for the first time since entering the aircraft, the three of them gazed around the cabin. It was cramped with crates, all secured by cargo rings throughout the aircraft. Perrine's striker units were snugly tied in the center aisle about midway down the aircraft. Light filtered into the aircraft through the windows, revealing stamps on the wooden surfaces. Each contained info about the contents, a military code, and a date of distribution. Lastly, each had the address of the destinations they were bound for.

"Some Mile-High club this is," he blurted with a sarcastic snicker as he stared up toward the cockpit. "They even forgot the champagne and the complimentary bag of peanuts!"

Once the door was secured, Cameron began to work his way toward the nose of the aircraft, which sloped sharply uphill due to the fact that the DC-3 was a tail-dragger type aircraft. Nearing the cockpit, he found a very small section of seating; one row of very simple passenger seats, two on each side of the aisle. Gesturing to the row, Cameron waved the Ireland and Lynne forward.

"Hey folks, there's plenty of seating up here! I won't be joining you for the takeoff though... I have to co-pilot with Cambridge to keep an ear on the radios."

Without a word, the two clambered their way up the aisle taking care not to trip, and sat down on opposite sides of the aircraft. Both claimed a window seat.

"Alright, let's buckle up. I'll come back for a bit once we're on our way, but don't hesitate to come and see me if you have any sort of issue."

"Alright," Ireland said as he snapped the belt latch. "Let's hope for a good go of it."

With a nod, Cameron turned for the cockpit door. Twisting the knob, he entered a worn, and sparsely finished cabin with insulation and exposed components. Above and below, Cameron faced a large, dark green set of panels filled with dozens of switches and gauges, all with paint chipped away beneath from dozens of fingers rubbing on the finish. The left hand seat was obviously occupied, evidenced by the peaked cap whose brim turned in his direction. The right seat was vacant.

"So we're leaving now?" Cambridge asked gruffly upon his entry.

Cameron shook his head. "No, but we will taxi to the end of the runway and face the headwinds, as per normal takeoff procedure. We're to wait for a signal from the contoller, and leave as Maloney shows up on their scope. Before we take off though, we need to douse every light we can."

Cambridge cleared his throat as Cameron settled into the copilot's seat. "Sounds simple enough..."

"Good. We can taxi with the lights on for now then," he finished, glancing around the cockpit. "Say, you haven't got a second headset have you? I've got a frequency to tune us to."

The pilot pointed to a nearby hook, where an aged headset hung on the side of the cabin. Lifting the set from the hook, Cameron dropped it neatly onto his head and adjusted the speakers. Once ready, he then gazed around the cockpit until he found the radio dials, which he then tuned for the base's 'ground frequency.'

"Oi Perrine, you pick us up okay?"

On the other end of the radio, Perrine tuned in on their frequency. "I've got you, and can hear you clearly."

"Good," he said with an affirming tone. "We're beginning our taxi. Just follow our lights out, and turn one-hundred eighty degrees at the end. I'll let you know when to start your takeoff and kill your lights."

"Understood," the Gallian replied.

After communications were finished, Cameron turned to Cambridge. "Alright, let's get this thing rollin'."

With a nod, George advanced the throttles on the port engine. Its roar rose in pitch, and the plane began to lurch forward down the runway. Cambridge allowed the C-47 to gain some momentum as it rolled, before shoving the right rudder pedal forward and pressing into the right differential brake. In a whiplash move, the tail of the old plane swung around on the runway, while the port throttle slid to its stops. After a bouncy turn, the plane faced the opposite direction and the opposite differential was applied as well as the other throttle. Soon, the plane began to roll down the uneven ground toward the end of the earthen runway.

As the plane began its taxi, Lynne stared silently through the window to her right as the ground scrolled by. "I never thought that anything like this could happen to me..." she mumbled. "So many things, all so sudden."

Ireland glanced at Lynne from where he sat. "What do you mean?" he asked with puzzlement.

Lynne flopped back in her seat. "Well, it's... I... I've been thinking over the past events. The things that have happened during the last few days. My fight with the Neuroi... Cameron's arrival... it's all so weird!" she said as she rubbed her eyes and stretched.

Ireland grinned. "Well Lynne, look at it this way. You're still alive, and you've got a new friend who has kept you alive... a protector of some sort."

"Yeah... a guardian angel."

"_Exactly_," Ireland replied with a nod. "And thus far, I think we're all satisfied with his work. You should've seen that boy when you were out... fussing over you."

Lynne shook her head in disbelief. "He was, was he? How long was I out for?"

"A couple of hours, give or take," the armorer answered sheepishly. "But there was one point that really surprised me when you and him were together. It caught me off guard for a moment, but then I realized it was rather innocent."

"_Innocent_?" Lynne gasped with concern. "What... what on earth did he do to me when I was out? Grope me?"

Ireland's eyes widened, and he held his hands up in Taylor's defense. "Oh no! Nothing of the sort, he would never! You two were... well... in a sort of..."

Ireland hesitated.

"Well, out with it!" Lynne prodded.

"But..."

"_Now_."

"I can't say!" Ireland shot back.

Lynne glared. "James, you best tell me now or so help me I'll do something that both of you will regret!"

James sat with his lips pursed, holding his breath. He waited for Lynne to do something, change her mind... but nothing happened. After a moment of silence, Ireland had no choice but to give in.

"You were holding each other, or givin' each other a hug!" he gushed suddenly. "Something of the like... I could only see, but I didn't hear anything! I was comin' to check on the two of you, and took a peek in the window of the barracks. He was... leaned over on top of you, but not lying on you. His legs were off to the side, like someone givin' their sister a kiss good night from the bedside, but it was a hug."

Lynette's face reddened. "Y-y-you're _joking_," she sputtered. "What on earth was I doing?"

"You had your arms wrapped around him too, and your face was buried in his chest."

For the next few minutes, Lynne knew nothing of what to say. She stared blankly and silently at the bulkhead in front of her seat, and the cabin was quiet apart from the distant thunder of the engine. Quietly, Ireland sat gathering his thoughts.

"Lynne... there are some things men wish others to know nothing of," he said philosophically. "This, I believe, is one of them. Taylor would probably kill me if he knew I told you this. He's trying to hold an awful lot of restraint, and you seem to be the only way he can be here."

Lynne stared at the floor. "You think so, James?" she asked quietly with embarassment.

"Most certainly!" he said with a nod. "I mean, he could have done something else... just as easily could he have left you here, and taken off one night. There's nothing really holding him back."

Lynne turned Ireland's words over in her mind. The event that he had explained seemed simple enough... he just hugged her. When she was unconscious. There was nothing she could do really, and he hadn't done anything wrong. But there was something... something different. When she found out what had happened, the events that had occurred, they left a numbness in her body. A feeling as though she had been paralyzed. The feeling wasn't bad, but the experience left a nausea in her stomach, and a loss for words.

Meanwhile, the men in the small control tower watched their radar. They scrutinized every single possible point that appeared, and the radar shadows that were produced. After roughly thirty minutes, one of the men yelled that a return had been made.

"Sir, about fifteen nautical miles out, radar contact at three-thousand feet!"

Another man turned toward the man at scope. "Hmm... has he radioed in?"

"Yes sir, called in requesting landing clearance. It's an unscheduled flight, didn't detail much."

The other man nodded. "Call the folks down at runway."

Cameron was listening to the ground frequency with anticipation, when suddenly a voice squawked through.

"Possible target, fifteen miles out Mister Taylor. Clear him?"

"Yes, do!" Cameron replied. "We're off then?"

"Yes, good to go."

Cameron nodded, and called to Perrine on the same frequency. "Okay Perrine! You ready to fly?"

About ten feet behind, the Spitfire idled with a seductive purr of its Merlin engine. "I'm set to, Cameron. Lights off?"

"Lights off!"

First, one by one, the lights on the Spitfire blinked off. Once that aircraft was dark, Cambridge too flipped his fingers down the switches like piano keys, and the transporter went black. The same happened to the interior cabin light, pitching the cabin into near-darkness. Blinking, Ireland stared around the aircraft, and settled his eyes on Lynette.

"It must be our time, Lynne," he said with a sigh. "Here she goes!"

George slid the port and starboard throttles to their stops, and lowered two slots flaps. The old engines rose to a roar, and the plane began to bounce and rock down the runway. Both the pilot and Taylor kept their eyes through the windshield, making sure to watch for obstructions. Soon, the buildings loomed ahead, and Cambridge threaded the old plane through the gap of the runway. He then pushed the wheel forward, and the tail lifted into the air.

"Making takeoff speed, tail's up."

Cameron watched as the airspeed needle continued to climb. Faster and faster the aircraft traveled as it sprinted down the runway. Finally, at ninety knots, Cambridge pulled the yoke in the opposite direction. With a slight pull, he gingerly lifted the main gear into the sky. For a moment, the plane hovered scant inches above the wrinkled ground... but then Cambridge gave another pull on the controls, and the nose lifted into the air.

Aluminum skin gleaming, the DC-3 disappeared into the foggy skies of Britannia.

Perrine watched as the fog swirled mysteriously, and in an instant the transporter was gone. Pushing her throttle forward to a point where the Merlin's supercharger remained dormant, Perrine grimaced as she began to bounce after her quarry like a little bird following its mother. Moments later, she too was in the air. Pushing the gear lever forward, the wheels folded into the belly of the Spitfire.

Once off the ground, both aircraft tuned to the agreed frequency.

"I'm willing to bet... that this fog layer will peter out about oh... two-thousand?" Cameron said to Cambridge as he worked the radio.

The pilot nodded. "Eh, sounds about right."

Twisting the dials, Cameron switched the frequency and made a check of the radio.

"So Perrine, are we on the new frequency?" he asked over the radio.

After a moment, the Gallian replied. "Yes, I hear you just fine. Do you want me to remain on the current heading?"

"If you can. I'm thinking we'll be able to see each other at around two-thousand feet, so keep climbing. Level out and join us as soon as you're out of the clouds a bit."

"Understood."

With a nod, Cameron slipped the headset off. "Hey Cambridge, keep an ear to the ground would you? I'ma gonna' check on de folks in back."

Recieving a grunt of acknowledgement, Taylor slipped from the copilot's seat, and made his way to the cockpit door. Twisting the latch, he stepped into the dimly lit cabin to take a stock of the passengers; he noted Ireland staring aimlessly out the window, and Lynne slumped down with a somber expression.

"Alright everyone!" he said cheerily clapping his hands together. "As you well know, we're now off for Dover. It's a little under one-hundred nautical miles away, so it'll be a bit of a flight."

Ireland nodded, but said nothing. Sensing nothing wrong, Cameron shrugged his shoulders and faced Lynette with a smile.

"So, mind if I join you?" he asked eagerly.

Lynne ignored him, and turned with an expressionless stare out the window. Taylor failed to recieve the hint, and so moved without thinking toward the seat next to Lynne. As he turned to sit, Ireland glanced over his shoulder.

"Ah... I... wouldn't do that, if I were you," he said with a nearly indetectable laugh.

Cameron froze, hovering above the seat. "Oh? And why not?" he said as he turned to get a glimpse of Lynne.

Before the armorer could reply, Lynne looked up at Cameron. "Oh... ah... go ahead. I'm fine with it."

James' mouth hung open mid-word. His expression soured with confusion moments after, not understanding the sudden swings of mood. With a confused shake of his head, he closed his mouth and returned to staring through the window. Cameron rolled his eyes, and settled into the seat with a sigh.

"Ohkaaaay... we are _off_!" he said with satisfaction. "So... while dear Miss Bishop was out, I reworked our operation _and_... you will be our navigator, okay Lynne?"

Lynne glanced over her shoulder. "What do you mean, _navigator_?"

"Through the building. I've never been there myself, obviously," he said with a smirk. "If and when the time comes for our little stunt, I'll do my best to cover you okay?"

"Ah... okay," she replied uneasily, shifting in her seat. "Why not Perrine?"

"She needs to hang in the Spitfire for as long as possible. Hell, if we're lucky they'll put her on a patrol and hide her for us," he said optimistically. "When the time comes, we'll call her out... or down, depending," he continued. "Plus... after that whole fiasco, I don't want you passing out behind _my _controls. Not so much for the aircraft, moreso that you're more valuable than the damned plane in my humble opinion."

Lynette blushed slightly. "Ah... was that a..."

"Sort of a compliment, yes, but more of a tactical assessment."

Before she could reply, Cameron then turned to face the armorer.

"And you... did you get the hat?"

James stared uncomprehendingly. "What hat?"

"_That _hat. The one with the gun? To smuggle in?" Taylor continued to push.

He continued to stare, but not for long. Moments later, he brought his hand to his face with an audible 'slap,' afterward dragging it down. "Oh bloody hell."

Cameron shook his head. "Oh well... we can improvise later when we're on the ground," he said changing subject. "Anyway... assuming that you both figure I'm back here to chat and be friendly... well, I'm not really. I'm here to start a little powwow and discuss our plan of operations. Lynne? Ireland?"

With a rustle, the armorer and the witch both turned in their seats. The plane continued to roar through the sky at 180 knots. Minutes continued to tick by.

"Here's what we're going to do. Firstly, we'll drop in low and fly in under the radar. Once at the runway, we'll jump up onto their lap. I'm hoping that they'll circle the aircraft with a defensive peremeter, so Perrine will have an excuse. Once we're on the ground, we'll figure out our plan of attack from there. After that we'll pick up Liz, go to your Mum's and take care of Phillip, have a cup of tea, and wait for all of this..." he said gesturing around, "to blow over."

"And Perrine?" asked Ireland.

"As I said, will either land or fly that _patrol_ they mentioned," Taylor continued.

"Ah, Cameron?" Lynne interrupted. "Don't you have any other sort of plan besides improvising?"

He nodded. "They'll know me as _Shirley's Cousin_," he explained. "Assuming you know to whom I refer, I hope to go under the guise of a family member. If that doesn't work, then it's just improv from there."

"Okay..." she said, unassured. "And what will we do when we stop on the ground?"

"I'm leaving first. You follow closely behind, and Ireland will bring up the rear. I'll initiate the discussion with whoever we're confronted by."

"Understood."

Cameron sighed, and took glances at his compatriots. The plane rocked slightly in a bank, and the engines gave a dull roar, a grey and concussive noise which resonated through the aircraft. With a smile, he then cleared his throat.

"Now that that... is out of the way," he began slowly, "I have another order of business to attend to. This involves you, Lynette, and your appearance."

He then turned in his seat to face her.

"Pardon me?"

"Your look, your uniform, how you're dressed," he explained. "It has to change for my plan to work."

A puzzled expression crossed her features. "Excuse me, but why exactly?"

"Because I thought about it, and came to the conclusion that Maloney _will be waiting._ Not here, necessarily, but he may have described your appearance to whoever he left in charge."

She nodded. "Okay... so... how exactly do you want me to ah... change?"

Cameron smiled, and said, "I've got _just_ the thing. If you would please oblige my request, follow me to the rear of the aircraft."

Two unbuckled belts and vacant seats later, Cameron and Lynne stumbled their way to the back of the aircraft. The cabin bobbed and weaved more noticeably here, much like the top of a ship's mast in stormy water. The sound of the engines was a dull hum now, but still enough to hide their voices. Also, the crates took up more space here, and offered a sort of 'wall.' Glancing over his shoulder, he guided Lynette around a corner and stepped in front of her.

Cameron smiled again. "Okay Lynne, sorry about keeping you in the dark about this, but I think we'll need to disguise you a bit," he began. "Have you ever heard of _Carnaby Street_ style, or _mod_ style?"

"Never."

"Alright then, this will be interesting, but understandable. You haven't seen the sixties yet," he said with a sigh. "So... first thing I want you to do is... lose the socks."

With a nod, Lynne eased herself to the floor of the aircraft. Resting her back against a crate to sit upright, she then slipped her thumbs beneath the band of one of two red and green thigh-highs; the red and green in large stripes which circled the leg horizontally. With care, she slid it down her leg, guiding the red and green fabric to accordion evenly inbetween her thumbs and index fingers. At first, he turned away from her in courtesy to avert his eyes. However after a stealing a quick glance, Cameron could not help but to allow his eyes to focus on her long, slender, and lithe legs as more and more of their skin was revealed. Lynette slipped the roll over her toes, and removed the opposite sock with the same method. Keeping her head down, she glanced out the corner of her eye, watching Taylor carefully. She could tell she was being watched, and with pleasure too.

"You know Cameron, with that lustful stare you're giving me, I'd have to assume you're drooling by now."

It took him a couple seconds, but then he realized her statement. He turned red, and spun on his heels.

"It's a bit late now," she said with feigned annoyance. Cameron glanced over his shoulder once, and then turned.

"So... now what?" she asked as he helped her to her feet.

"Now... if it's, heh, not too much trouble... I want you to take off your uniform and vest. I need to take a look at your dress shirt."

Reaching forward, he carefully folded back the inside edge of one of the uniform's dark lapells.

"Alright, button-down collar," he said with a nod.

Lynette stared at his hand. "Excuse you, but watch those hands."

"There is no excuse for me, sorry."

A few seconds later, Lynne was stripped down to her dress shirt, her green silk tie hanging away from her stomach as it dropped over where her breasts pressed from beneath. Uniform and vest hanging from the corner of a crate, Cameron nodded approvingly as he gazed upon Lynette's figure. As he began to think, a voice called from the front of the aircraft.

"Oi, you two! I see those clothes hanging there!" shouted Ireland. "What are you two doing?" he asked with a mischievious tone.

Cameron glanced around the corner of a crate. "Oh, just dirty, dirty, rather perverted things James!" he said jokingly. "Lynne and I are having so much fun back here, nothing ten-year-olds in adult's bodies need to know about!"

"Haaaaaay! You knock that off, or else I'm coming back there!"

Cameron laughed at Ireland. "Yeah sure thing officer, but we aren't parked!"

Meanwhile, unnoticed by Cameron as he joked, Lynne began to creep silently toward him. He knew nothing, and continued to poke his head around the corner. Laughing again, Cameron pulled back seconds later. He was shocked to find himself face-to-face with Lynne upon his return.

"Oh, ah, what do you..."

Before he could finish however, Lynne struck fast, raising her arm. Her face red with embarassment, she brought a fist down hard on the center of his head. Cameron whimpered, and clutched the top of his skull. He was more shocked than anything.

"Hey, what was that for?"

"You dirty old man! Don't say such embarassing things! He's a close friend of mine you know!"

"They were but suggestions! Not once did I specify acts!" he retorted. "Besides, what did you think I was talking about?"

Lynne sputtered. "I... what... well... I dont know!"

"_Out with it. What did you think I meant?_"

Lynne whimpered, turning even redder. Cameron inched closer, further intimidating her to give an answer. Before she could reply however, the aircraft lurched suddenly. Up front, in the cockpit, Cambridge fought the controls. He let loose a volley of obscenities, turning the cabin air blue. The plane had been slammed by a strong coastal crosswind.

"Hooooo scheisse!" Cameron spat, grabbing for the top edge of a crate. The tail of the DC-3 snapped up, and flung Lynne into the air.

"Oh dear god, look out!" she cried in surprise.

The tail lurched to the left, and a wing snapped up. Cameron nearly lost his grip, and Lynette was flung across the cabin.

"Oi, watch where you're going!" Cameron exclaimed. Lynne landed feet first on the opposite wall.

"What do you mean, you twit?" she said angrily. "You think I'm do-whoa, look out!"

The tail lurched again as Cambridge applied rudder. Lynette was now sent the opposite direction, which this time was now toward Cameron. She flapped her arms like a bird, in hopes that it would stop her from moving.

"Oh no, I'm coming across!"

Cameron put his arms out. "No, no, no, no... look out! Reach for something!"

Oblivious to his statements, Lynne began to spin in the air. Cameron changed his tactic, and instead of block himself, he spread his arms. A moment later, Lynette tumbled into Cameron, who released his grip on the cargo crate. Embracing her from behind, he tucked her head under his chin as they traveled the final few feet across the cabin. With Lynne on top of him, Taylor slammed into the bulkhead of the aircraft. His shoulders landed on a particularly high support, and he cried in pain.

"Damnit!" he said through clenched teeth. "Being the hero... doesn't have the benefit I thought it'd have!"

Clutching her shoulders, Cameron held Lynette on his lap. The plane began to even out then, and soon the wings were level. Back still pressed against it, Cameron slid down the bulkhead, and landed with a thud on the floor. Lynne, who was huddled against him with her eyes shut, opened one eye. Seeing that the aircraft was once again stable, she then freed herself from Cameron's grip.

"Ouch, my bum's going to be sore for a week!" she huffed, turning to get a look at Cameron. "How did you fare?"

Cameron clenched his teeth, and sucked in a breath. The feeling of where his shoulder blade had stricken the bulkhead was intense.

"Jesus!" he hissed. "It feels like someone... took an axe to my bones... and poured hot water in!"

Sliding to her knees, Lynne rose to her feet shakily. Taking a quick glance, she noted Ireland staring back at her. A look of concern crossed his face, and his expression asked a volley of questions.

"Don't worry James, I'm fine!" she said reassuringly. "I don't know about Mister Taylor though, he seems a bit shaken _and_ stirred."

With a smile, Lynne extended her hand to help Cameron to his feet. Slowly, and painfully, she grabbed him by his left wrist. His right arm had gone numb from the pain now, but any substantial push or pull would set it off again. In a moment, she had Cameron on his feet.

"I don't know who is more in need of a doctor now," he grunted. "You or me?"

"Are you alright?" she asked concernedly. "That must hurt like the devil!"

"Damn right it does, but that's... not the problem right now," he said. "Let's get back to... the Carnaby Street thing."

Lynne stared with shock. "But... well... at least let me take a look at it!"

"Not important," he said waving her off. "There's nothing we can do anyway, so let's get back to work. I'll let you take a look at it later... if you want to. I'm sure there's a first aid kit on board."

He reached for her tie, and pulled it loose with a flick of his wrist. The green silk hanging loosely over his hand, Lynne grabbed his wrist gently.

"Easy, I've got it, okay?"

"Sorry."

"It's the buttons on the collar I'll have the bleeding war with."

Cameron nodded, and waited silently. Lynette carefully released the remains of the tie knot, and then set to coiling it around her finger. Her arm moving in a circle, she wrapped and wrapped until it was a nothing but a green spiral around her index finger. Gingerly slipping it free, she then handed it to Cameron, who tucked it away in a pants pocket.

"Okay. Shall I begin?"

Lynne nodded. "Go ahead... just... don't do anything you shouldn't. Do anything suspicious, and I'll _bite_ you! I'm a cat you know!"

"And I'll tug on your ears and tell Ireland about it. Deal?"

Lynne's only response was a huff, which suggested a snort of laughter. With a smile, she then placed her hands on the top of her breasts, as though holding them out of the way. She looked down to the point that her chin touched her collar, and watched as Cameron began to work the small buttons which held the collar down.

"I like your look, Lynne," he said as kindly and as casually as a hairdresser. "I have a few button-collars, one white, black, and red. Mod ties, and of course this one that I'm wearing now to go with em'," he said as he nodded to the one which peeked from between his uniform's lapells. "I was born in the wrong damned era, in my opinion."

His thumb joint popped as he freed the left button. Lynne smiled and laughed softly, tilting her head to the side. "I don't know... maybe you were," she said with suggestion in her tone. "I feel as though I were born in the wrong place sometimes... It feels weird. I get the same feeling when I'm with me dad."

"Ah yes," Cameron said in recognition. "William Avery Bishop, a First World War Ace of the Royal Canadian Air Force," he said with a warm reverence. "He seems like an interesting fellow... he was a good shot, just like you."

At that moment, the second button popped free. Lynette found Cameron's statement puzzling, and she stared confusedly at him.

"What?"

"How'd you know my father?"

"I don't," Taylor said with a shrug. "I've read about him though... he died in my world before I was born, in the fifties. As I said before though, he was a helluva shot apparently. The man could put a bloody hole in a target the size of a dot in any normal man's vision. Started with a group called the Mounted Rifles, but then got tired of the _mud and horseshit_ of the trenches as he put it. He loved flying."

Cameron gestured for Lynne to turn, but she stared uncomprehendingly. "How did you _know_ that that man in particular was my father? Middle name and all, for that matter?"

Cameron smiled slightly. "Well... don't be angry with me, but back at the hangar in the woods... when you hit me with that snowball?"

"Yes?"

"Well, I picked my sorry butt up off the ground a bit later. Got dust, dirt and such on your uniform," he explained. "Seeing as I couldn't really hurt it, I shrugged out and gave it a good shake. Your locket popped out, that and your dogtags. Gave the locket a look."

To Cameron's disappointment, the dresden blue eyes blazed slightly. "You shouldn't have done that," she said in a low tone. "It's not polite to go through a lady's personal effects without her permission."

Cameron shrank slightly. "Oh... I'm... I'm sorry," he said looking away. "I should've known better."

Lynne shut her eyes. "Yes... well..." she said with a sigh. "I'll let it go this time, understand? Just because I've not been around men doesn't mean that I've grown lax in my standards."

"I understand," he muttered softly. "Sorry to have troubled you," he continued.

From up front, a voice called back to them. "You've got ten minutes before we begin our descent! I've kept tabs on Perrine, and she's hanging off our tail!"

"Thanks Ireland! Was that from Cambridge?"

"Yeah!"

With a nod, Cameron turned silently to face Lynne again. "If it's not too much trouble... could you turn for me? I have to get the back button."

"Oh, yes! Sorry."

She then turned in place, and waited patiently as Cameron worked the last button free. As it slipped through the buttonhole, a shot traveled through his arm. It jerked in response, and his fingers snagged on her collar. In moments, Lynne spun to face him.

"What are you doing!" she demanded.

"S-sorry, my shoulder!" he hissed pleadingly. "Forgive me!"

Her expression softened in understanding. "Oh, I see."

Cameron stepped back now, and nodded. "Now that that little scheme is over... do you know where the uniform and the vest went?"

Lynne gazed around the cabin. "I don't... oh, there they are!" she said pointing.

Cameron turned to look and found the items snagged on a nearby cargo rack. He crossed the few feet to the bulkhead, and gingerly unsnagged the fabric from the aircraft. In a moment, he was once again at Lynne's side.

"Alright, I think I know where to go with this," he said affirmingly. "So... here's what I'm going to do. In my world, there's this guy. Wonderful man, you've never heard of or seen 'im, and his name is Paul McCartney. He was one of four who sung that song that we danced to."

Lynne's eyes lit up. "Oh really? Where does he come from?"

"Liverpool. You can tell me about it later," he carried on. "So anyway, he's _Sir_ McCartney now... and he had a wonderful wife whose name... was _Linda_. He was truly blessed."

Lynne nodded. "Okay... so he had a wife..."

"And kids..."

"And kids," she added. "What are you getting at?"

Cameron smiled. "Well, one day she was dressed up casually. Big deal, right?" he said with a shrug. "Someone got a picture, and it was published. Years later though, I come along looking for music by his band Wings. I saw this picture, and I thought it was really nice."

"It must've been something revealing..." Lynne muttered in a low tone.

Cameron laughed. "Ha ha! Oh, heavens no! I wouldn't do something like that to you," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "But it was nice, and I've got all the things I'll need to dress you up right."

She nodded in agreement. "So, what was the outfit? Can't you tell me?"

He shook his head. "No, it'll be a surprise," he replied cryptically. "First of all though... I need you to slip back into that vest."

She sighed, and reached for the article. Cameron handed it off, and in short order Lynne wore the vest again. Cameron licked his lips in thought, staring at the breast and collar.

"Okay, that's the first part. Now... I need you to do two things. First of all, pull out the shirt collar so it's over the vest."

With a nod, she tugged the white shirt from beneath the vest. Its collar was spread slightly, but still looked buttoned. Staring at the collar, Cameron shook his head.

"Right... now... unbutton the first two buttons, and spread the collar."

Lynne's eyes widened slightly. "Why? That'll open up my shirt!"

"That's the intention," he concluded. "Just do it."

She unbuttoned the first two, and sighed. "There. Happy now?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I needed," he said with a smile. "You already are starting to look just _smashing_!"

"You just want to peek down my shirt!"

"Well, I'm not going to deny it, but I will defend by saying that it wasn't my intention."

"Are we done yet?"

Once again, Cameron laughed. "Oh dear, no! We're only part way through."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note- Sorry about the delay folks. I hope the read was worth it though. Just a few hundred more words, and I'll have fifty thousand words! It's amazing to think about! I'm glad that people have been keeping recent on my story, and am honored to have the criticizms and opinions of readers. Again, thank you!**

Through The Storm

Chapter 10-

Cambridge's brow glistened now, and he dragged the sleeve of his jumpsuit across it. His breathing had slowed, his heart pounded less rapidly... he was in control again. The winds had violated and manhandled his 'girl,' they'd had their way with his plane. The faithful Douglas had been kicked about like a can in a back alley, but she had righted herself again. The winds were not uncommon for the area, and George knew that. It was just the severity of the gust, and its suddenness which surprised him. Setting his course, Cambridge made sure his plane was on even keel, and then turned for the cockpit door. During the rolling and pitching, this had swung wildly (as Taylor had left it open), and had smacked against the short passageway to the passenger cabin. He leaned out into the passage, and called back to Ireland.

"Jesus, sorry about that!" he apologized. "Are you guys alright?"

Ireland straightened himself out. "Just a bit shaken, that's all... but the folks in back... well..."

Cambridge nodded. "Just as long as nobody's hurt. That was one sucker of a gust."

With a nod, George finished tending to his passengers. He now returned to the cockpit, and checked his instruments. As his eyes began to browse the various dials and meters, Perrine's voice squawked through the headset.

"Excuse me, but Mister Cambridge?"

"Yes, what is it?" he transmitted back.

"How far off are we from our destination?"

Cambridge checked his watch, which he had set prior to the flight. Doing some quick math, he figured their airspeed, distance, and travel time.

"We're about... oh... ten minutes off thereabout. Thanks for bringin' it to my attention."

"Not a problem," she replied. "Thanks for the update."

He nodded to himself. "Sure thing. We'll probably start our descent now, and drop to about a hundred feet off the surface of the water, give or take a few. Make it slow and easy, 'cause there still could be bad fog."

Perrine acknowledged, and the radio was soon quiet again. Setting his throttles, Cambridge then reached for the knob for the aircraft's gyro. Unlike modern aircraft, which can be fixed to an altitude and have a rate of climb set, the Douglas had a noticably simpler system. This system, called the Sperry autopilot, allowed for the pilot to set a heading, and a flight attitude or pitch. Despite allowing for more hands-free flight, the system still required the pilot to be attentive to his instruments.

With the flick of the wrist, the pilot set the plane for a down pitch of five degrees. To avoid overspeed, he idled back to about one third throttle.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at Westhampnett...

Trevor Maloney was much less than enthused. In fact, he was _quite_ _angry_. With a scowl, he stormed down the runway, heading for one of the aircraft hangars. As planned, Maloney had understood the message that had been sent. He had immediately been concerned for his own plans, and had left for the RAF station as soon as time would allow him to depart. He knew not that Sergeant Bishop, this _unknown Gallian_, an armorer and some boy had left before his arrival.

He had quite frankly, _been shafted_.

In his absence, he had left his second in command in charge; a ranking officer who had originally been involved in the Warlock program. Certain loyalty was backed by bribery and scandals, bringing the man to his pedistal in much the same way that Maloney had himself risen. It was also by this method that Maloney had kept his career, and avoided prosecution by a special court session held by the League of Nations and the RAF. The man was a rat.

As he continued to stride through the fog, he felt himself being watched. The walls had eyes, he knew, as many stared silently through windows and from behind corners. Upon his arrival, most of the base's citizenry had hidden itself, and RAF Westhampnett had turned into a decommissioned ghost town. Bringing a small group of soldiers, Maloney had already found three of them, and interrogated them thoroughly. A smile began to creep from the corner of his lips, soon turning into a smirk, a sneer, then a grin. His eyes twinkled evilly, and he moved silently as he listened for movement. He searched carefully, focusing his eyes for a moment on the windows of the buildings.

"You had best all come out now!" he called jovially. "No harm will come to you if you cooperate, I can guarantee you that!"

He waited a moment, cupping his ear. He stood stock still, the fog drifted by, and his joints stiffened in the penetrating cold. He stood patiently, waiting ever so long for a sound. A few minutes later, his waiting paid off.

"Piss off ya' fuckin' twat!" someone snapped, their shout echoing through the fog.

Maloney's face remained a mask of glee, but only for a fleeting moment. It then turned, first into a mask of confoundment, then a look of recognition. After that it morphed to reflect rage.

"Mock me will you? I'll have you for that, you stupid bastards!"

He then grabbed for his holster, and popped the snap on it. Fumbling with the safety he yanked out his service pistol, a Webley Revolver, and cocked the hammer. The safety flipped off then, and he aimed for where the voice had come from in the fog. His finger pulsed, squeezed on the trigger. It pulled, and the gun roared.

_BLAM, cock BLAM, cock BLAM_

The double-action clicked briefly on the recocking of the hammer, audible due to slow and deliberate trigger pulls. He stopped at three shots, the report echoing through the fog. Townspeople nearby stopped, listening to the gunfire. Silence reigned over the base, as though a candle had been snuffed. Maloney flipped the safety on again, and calmly dropped the pistol back into the holster. As he smiled to himself, the sound of running footsteps came through the fog.

"Sir, sir, what the hell are you doing? You just started a bloody war!"

He turned to face the new arrival; one of the men he had brought along. He was sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him, his eyes showing a huge volume of fear. Out of curiosity, Maloney's brow rose.

"What do you mean?" he asked bemusedly.

The soldier skidded to a stop. "We just checked their armory," he said hurriedly, sucking in the cold air. "There was enough weaponry and ammunition to arm every man, woman, and child for at least a quarter mile out from the base!"

"_And?_"

"It's bloody empty, save for some artillery shells! Every man here is armed, you moron! Even the guns for the bombers and fighters were taken!"

As though to punctuate the soldier's words, a roar of gunfire responded in short order. The staccato rattle of machine guns, submachines, and even the sound of pistols filled the air like a percussion section filled with monkeys. Bullets whined and hummed, spat and thumped. The soldier took a shot in the foot, and howled with pain. Maloney grabbed the man under the arms, and began to drag him for a nearby hangar. All the while, he fired back at shadows which appeared on the rooftops. He missed all, his aim thrown by his struggling burden. Bullets trailed on the ground after him, as though running a stitch into the earth. He was moving slowly enough that any shot could hit himself or the soldier. They were missing him intentionally. Maloney managed to slip around the edge of a hangar, and settle to the ground.

"GOD DAMNIT!" he roared, slamming his fist into the building's wall.

The soldier next to him gasped with pain. "My... my foot! They actually shot me in the bloody foot!" he sputtered in disbelief, his voice cracking with agony.

"Oh, shut up you fucking half-wit!" the Air Marshal spat. "If you can't even take a bullet to the foot without cryin', then it's a small wonder how in the hell you even became a soldier for the commonwealth."

Bullets continued to ricochet off the buildings around them. Maloney took a deep, measured breath, and began to rise to his feet with his back sliding against the damp wall. He withdrew the revolver, dumped the empty shells, and loaded a fresh load into the chambers. Snapping the chambers closed, he then crept to the edge of the wall. The gunfire had slowly begun to subside. With care, he peered around the corner and scanned the rooftops.

"Let's see..." he muttered to himself. "On the rooftops, there are five... two behind that outbuilding..."

As he thought, he pulled the gun and trained it on various targets. What he listed were the distinct silhouettes he spotted in the fog. They lined the rooftops, peered around corners like he himself did, and poked from windows. If one were to compare the situation, it would be much like the movie The Italian Job from 1969, wherein Charlie Croker is surrounded by the Italian Mafia on all sides; the wall next to the roadway, the road, in front, behind, and up the hillside. The men of the squadron, pilots and ground crew alike, all stood or crouched calmly. They too trained their weapons on the corrupt Air Marshal without even a hint of concern.

He was surrounded.

* * *

The 'forty-seven' was about seven miles out now, and descending toward a thick pall of grey fog which roiled and seethed menacingly with gusts. The aircraft looked miniscule, almost like a mosquito, against the massive backdrop of grey mist. It seemed almost surreal, as though it were a huge painting.

Such is life in the eyes of a pilot.

During the course of Cameron and Lynette's brief masquerade in a flying drink shaker, Perrine had stayed faithfully on their tail during the entirety of the flight. About half a mile behind, the Spitfire soared through the skies with the same grace of a thoroughbred on the track. She too was stricken by powerful gusts, but the roaring Merlin and it's propeller on the shaft chewed faithfully through the skies, propelling the Spitfire forward with ease.

Perrine had wanted the time to think, as well as establish her contingency plans and explanations. Had she been able to use the autopilot, this would have been possible. The fact was not that the aircraft was lacking of it, or that it was broken. The plane had been fitted with a simple Sperry system, which worked just like the one on board the C-47. It was the fact that the Sperry system had been modified, and jury-rigged to work with another, much newer system which Cameron had pulled from a Cessna. What was simple to one man of one generation... was mind boggling, and complex to the young Gallian girl of this past generation.

"I can't believe... that we're going through with this!" she muttered to herself. "That man is insane!"

Furrowing her brow, she watched as her friends began their descent. Following suit, she pulled on the throttle and adjusted her pitch with the control knob. She then took a moment to gaze over the gauges and lights before her, allowing her eyes to linger on the altimeter before refocusing on the skies ahead through the canopy. With their descent under way, Perrine knew that they were nearing their destination. With a sigh, she settled herself back in the seat, and began to sweep the surrounding clouds with her gaze. It was like descending into a great valley, ringed on all sides by immense cliffs of solid white and grey.

Back and forth... again. To her, it once was beautiful... but after so many flights, the scene occasionally became monotonous to her. Just as some would tire of the view of a great ocean from a ship's bridge, pilots also tired of this sometimes. It was endless, and boring. Her eyes began to glaze over.

An indistinct movement broke the monotony.

* * *

Cameron marched his way cheerily down aisle to the forward cabin. Picking his way carefully around Perrine's Strikers, he continued rapidly to where the armorer sat.

"Oh Jaaaaames," he called almost tauntingly. "I've got a surprise for you!"

Coming to a stop, he looked down at Ireland. In a moment, Cameron wore a bemused expression upon seeing James, whose head lolled drunkenly to the side. The armorer was fast asleep where he sat.

"Oi, James!" he barked. "Up now!"

The man yawned, long and drawn out. Licking his lips, he adjusted his position in the seat, and began to talk in his sleep.

"Oh... oh mmmmy Majrrrr... you've had too muchhh... a pint too many."

Cameron stood patiently, awaiting further response. He counted to ten, tapped his foot, and did other assorted things. It was as though the sleeping armorer were defying his orders. After about thirty seconds, his patience wore through. Cameron looked down in thought, but was soon interrupted by a grind of metal. Glancing up, he found Lynette stumbling clumsily across the Strikers in an attempt to join him.

"Oh my, do be careful!" he warned. "Do you want me to help you?"

Lynne laughed uneasily. "Oh, ha ha, nooo I'm fine. I'm almost... oh, oh my!"

She began to teeter precariously, and tried to move. Cameron observed her, and noticed she was having trouble. Looking down, he soon realized what the problem was; she had managed to wedge her foot between the units by accident, and was held at the ankle. Without a second thought, he turned away from James to attend to Lynette.

"No, I'm fine!" she cautioned.

"Just wait, before you hurt yourself," Cameron warned defiantly. "You're going to wind up twisting your ankle out of sorts, and as much as I'd like to carry you around it wouldn't necessarily be all that convenient."

Steadying himself on one of the crates, he extended his arm and leaned across the devices. Lynne gave a gratituous smile, and willingly took his hand as she slipped her foot free. With care, Cameron helped her across to the other side, and soon she joined him.

"Thank you very much."

"Not at all a prob...OUCH!" he hissed with pain, grimacing. "We-we're almost there though... I'm trying to rouse James. Damned shoulder!"

She stared back at him with concern. "You idiot, I told you! Let me get a look at it will you?"

Cameron had already turned away, making his return to the row of seats. Lynne followed closely as he clambered down the aisle to Ireland again. Upon reaching him, the two hovered over the sleeping armorer in thought of how to awaken him.

"I'm being honest, you twit. Let me look at it!"

"It's fine!" he whispered sharply. "C'mon, help me get 'im up."

With a sigh, Cameron sidestepped around the sleeping man, leaving Lynne in the aisle. He stopped on the other side, near the window, and began to scrutinize how James was sitting. His eyes scanned carefully, and locked when a point of interest was found. Tentatively, he began to reach out, eventually grasping one of his shoulders.

"Here's what we do," he began to explain, smiling mischieviously. "You grab that shoulder, and we both shake him and shout. If that doesn't awaken him, then he's doomed."

Lynne glanced up at him. "Huh? Why do that? He'll think we're crashing."

Cameron laughed. "That's the idea. What's better? A man roused and half asleep, or a man thrust awake, scared but aware?"

"You little deviant!" she said scowling. "It's nothing but a dirty trick!"

Cameron grinned. "Nawwww, I wouldn't call it that... It's more of a... innovative reveille, full of creativity and lacking of instrumentation."

"I call it soiling his trousers!"

Cameron rolled his eyes. "If you say so, Lynette. So are you going to do it, or what?"

With a huff, she grabbed the poor armorer's shoulder. "Fine, but when he wakes... I have _nothing_ to do with it!"

"Good. On three then. One... two... _three!_"

* * *

The Gallian's hands were cold, tingling with a ferocious iciness as they wrapped in a death grip around the yoke. She hadn't seen the thing, she sensed it. Her witches powers gave a fluctuation, a pulse back. The thing she had caught but a mere glimpse of was a powerhouse of energy, it throbbed white hot it seemed, and the energy was sustained. To her, it came like a long hot flash, and in response her body became damp in the uniform. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, her eyes scanned like those of a hunter. The rise in temperature was normally dispelled during combat, where the cool winds around her whistled by, and her uniform fluttered violently like something struggling free. Uneasily, the top of her stomach seemed to creep up her throat, joining an already formed lump.

There was something. It was menacing, large, and dangerous.

As she continued to cruise on, her mind seemed to go into a trance. Stiffly, she pulled back on the yoke and advanced the throttles. Her eyes began to moisten, locked open, watching, waiting. Below, Cambridge seemed to sense a change in her position. The Spitfire passed overhead moments later, its engine pitch high, its prop blast making the cockpit vibrate. Confusedly, George fumbled the radio on.

"Hey Perrine, where are you going?" he radioed. "You see something out there?"

Her jaw felt as though wired shut. Taking a moment, it seemed to be an eternity before her mind registered the voice calling out to her. Hand shaking, she began to reply.

"Oh... a-ah..." she croaked. "I... I'm just checking something out. I thought I saw something."

Cambridge nodded to himself. "Aaaaacknowledged, just don't go too far. Don't want you to get lost in this fog bank."

Leaving the acknowledgement behind, Perrine put the throttles to the stops. The Merlin snarled then, its supercharger kicking into full military power as it leapt forward. Looking for her quarry, she began to put her head on the swivel as she plunged toward the mammoth clouds before the spinning prop.

"Please, just let it be paranoia," she thought to herself. "For the love of god let it be paranoia, it was too big!"

At that moment, the clouds before the canopy turned dark. They began to blast apart violently, as though a dog were ripping through white bedsheets. Perrine's eyes widened in recognition as she sped closer and closer toward the titanic object in the clouds.

"_NO!_" she gasped. "Impossible!"

Perrine sensed her hand moving, as though it were of its own mind. Sluggishly, it pushed the yoke over to the left, and the wings began to dip. As she kept her view trained on the massive anomaly which seemed buried in the clouds, a red flicker caught her attention. She shook her head, blinked, and stared in disbelief.

"Il est si accablant... même pas les grâces de Dieu peut nous sauver," she whispered to herself in Gallic.

It was then that she banked hard, pulling back on the stick. The plane whipped around hard, like a bird sailing through the skies. As she wheeled away, the skies began to redden with a brilliant, almost contrasting light.

"Dieu nous sauver tous," she cracked sorrowfully.

* * *

During the time of Perrine's damning discovery, the C-47 had dropped a considerable distance in altitude. From the time of her departure and thereafter, George had kept a keen eye on the dot that was the Spitfire. This being the fact even now, his eyebrow rose as he watched her in the distance, making a sharp bank. Screwing up his vision, he stared silently, leaning into the windshield to get a better look. Just faintly, he noted that the bank was so sharp that the Spitfire was shaking violently, stalling, it's wings flopping crazily.

"A full power turn?" he mumbled to himself. "Th' hell's got her so worked up?"

Settling back into his seat, Cambridge began to relax until a faint blink of light caught his last moment's attention. He froze, back elevated slightly, as though he had been driving at night and had seen something hulking and strange by the roadside. The speck that was the Gallian was beginning to swell, meaning that her speed remained unchecked. Behind her, the clouds were menacing, changing color, glowing, and rolling.

"Monsieur Cambridge!" the radio squawked. "Please, for the love of God respond!"

Hearing the call, George began to fumble blindly for the radio switch. All the while, his eyes remained rooted on the disaster unfolding before the cockpit windows.

"Damn it George, please respond!" Perrine shouted again. The pilot still fumbled hurriedly for the switch.

"Damn you, you little..." he growled as though it heard him.

Drunkenly, he dragged his hand across the radio panel. He felt the lettering, the designs, and the buttons and dials. Soon enough, however, he had his thumb and index finger wrapped over the top of the little metal lever, which he flipped over soon after.

"What's going on?" he asked dazedly. "I can see something happening. The clouds are glowing."

"GET AWAY!" she shouted. "FOR GOD'S SAKE GET AWAY! DESCEND, BANK, FLY, JUST GET AWAY!"

At that instant, a pillar of red light lanced out from the cloud cover. Its glaring blaze of heat caused the clouds to terminate at the "hilt," swirling, not touching, rotating and moving. Without a second of consideration, Cambridge slammed the controls forward. Like a diver taking a leap from the high-dive at the Olympics, the twin-engined transport leapt over the edge of an invisible precipice. If a camera had been mounted on the nose, the viewer would have sworn that the fuselage rippled as though it had itself bent to the curve of airflow. In the distance, a deep screech emanated from the clouds.

Cameron and Lynette were thrown against the top of the bulkhead. The motion was so sudden to them that they could only stare in shock as the floor disappeared, and the ceiling came at them.

"What the..." was the only thing that Taylor could mutter before he hit the roof with a sickening thud. Lynne landed hard, and began to scream in terror and confusion. Ireland, who was effectively awakened, began to shout. This only added further to the bedlam.

"WHAT'S HAPPENING?" he shouted fearfully. "Where's Lynne? I hear her screaming!"

Cameron was pinned to the ceiling, struggling to move. His head had stricken the bulkhead with a heavy force, and a gash had opened on the back of his scalp.

"Lynette!" he called earnestly. "Lynne, where are you?"

Another shriek erupted from her lips, and both men grimaced. Their hearts pounded in their throats, and adrenaline flooded their senses. Cameron stared at the interior of the aircraft, and watched as the world bent around him. While James remained strapped into his seat, the attitude of the aircraft continued to change. Moments later, the Douglas seemed to be almost nose-down. Gradually, the flailing bodies began to slide toward the tail.

"Good God, what's happening?" James shouted. "Are we going down?"

James' confusion went unheard as the others shot toward the rear of the aircraft. Unconcerned for the abrupt end ahead, Cameron began to search the cabin.

"Lynne, where are you?" he called with fear. "By god girl, where are you? Grab on to me!"

He was facing one of the windows now. The cabin was quickly beginning to dim, and clouds were streaming over the outside of the aircraft. As the altitude decreased, snow began to pelt the windows. Bile began to rise in Cameron's throat as he surveyed the situation in his mind. They were descending, nose down. Something disasterous had happened. Their plans were a shambles, there was an icy cold Atlantic below the fuselage, and all this was in the middle of a blizzard. It appeared that the end had come for the three of them.

"Lynne!" he shouted once more. "Where are..."

Before he could finish, something drifted toward and crashed into Taylor. A foot lanced out, and collided with the back of his head. It was Lynne.

"Quick, give me your hand!" he pleaded, blindly groping the body behind him.

Eventually, their hands met. The Londoner's petite and cold fingers laced through his own, and Cameron turned to face her. An eternity had seemingly passed since the start of their fall, and the end seemed bleak for the three of them. If they somehow managed to survive, there was no way in hell that any of them could survive the freezing Atlantic waters of the Strait. Now halfway down the fuselage, Cameron gently shoved off from the wall. Righting themselves hurriedly, he and Lynne soon were facing, upside-down, hands clasped together.

"Lynne!" he said defeatedly. "I'm sorry... that it's come to this."

Lynette stared into his eyes, as Cameron did hers. "What's going to happen?"

Glancing out the nearest window, he was astonished to find a clear sky filled with billions of snowflakes. A low, thick pall of clouds lingered at a low altitude, and massive waves with whitecaps danced over the ocean's surface. In the distance, a fortification could be seen in the strait. This, he assumed, was the base.

"We were soooo close," he said, his tone like that of a man who had placed second, though was still satisfied. "Lynette... I believe that it's best you don't know what will happen."

The young girl's eyes adjusted and softened, and a sadness came over her features. "I see..." she said in sad recognition. "I... understand."

Slowly, the fear began to dissipate. Cameron smiled, and seemed to be accepting of his fate. Lynne could do nothing but stare, like a confused and scared child. The events unfolding seemed so unreal, so unbelievable.

"I think I have something more to say..." Cameron said, the ocean filling the windows of the cabin. "Something to ask of you, as a person, as someone dear."

Her eyes widened slightly, and she stared with an expression of slight bewilderment. "What? What can... what could I possibly do now?"

Cameron smiled, almost grinning. "I don't know how it happened... I know not how I got here, or if I have a purpose... but there is one thing I remember and shall never forget."

"What is it?" she asked, uncaring to their nearing departure.

"Lynette Bishop... no... Sergeant Lynette Bishop, marksman, and pilot of the 501st Joint Fighter Wing," he started reverently, "it is my final wish, not as a protector, or friend... but... as someone who cares most deeply for you, seeing that they may not be blessed with the opportunity again... will you please be mine to hold? Will you please oblige me with the opportunity to be with you to the bitter end?"

Lynette's reaction was surprising, even to Cameron. As their fates brought them closer and closer to death, her reaction was not of shock, or of anger, or of ignorance. She was not surprised, nor was she appalled. Instead, she smiled, and slipped her hands free.

"Given the situation... and the fact that I haven't known a... feeling like this... before... I _gratefully_ accept your proposal, Cameron Taylor."

As the plane came closer and closer to the sea, Cameron swept her into his arms. Burying her face into his chest, Lynne clutched the lapells of his uniform.

"Thank you," she whispered tearfully.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note- Ten chapters... fifty-four thousand words. A dramatic cliffhanger... a trolled audience. I bet you're all hopping mad, you poor, poor ba... oh, sorry. Ha ha, just messing with you all. So, I want your feedback on the last one. As you can see, it's a bit of a "boss battle" coming up. One thing's sure, the two of em' will be up against more than that big sonofabitch that flies. That, and Mister Taylor will feel pretty foolish. And embarrassed. Afterward, that is.**

Through The Storm

Chapter 11-

Perrine's lips were taut, and her expression grim as she rocketed upward. Her back was toward the boiling waters below, and her nose toward the sky as the Merlin roared visciously in the fuselage and its mountings. As the plane climbed higher and higher, beginning to slow, she stole a glance over her left shoulder. She could no longer see her friends.

"Non! Ils ... ils ne peuvent pas être..." she muttered in disbelief. "They can't be gone..."

She checked her altitude, and found she had climbed to a little over ten thousand feet. Leveling off, Perrine began to circle back to where she had been moments ago. The more she flew, the further her stomach seemed to contract into itself, and form a knot. Slowly and shakily, she began to fumble with the radios. From what she had seen above, she feared the worst for her friends. Sweeping her gaze across the patches of ocean visible through the clouds, she began to call for them over the radio.

"Monsieur Cambridge!" she shouted excitedly. "Are you alright? Please, tell me where you are!"

An eerie static was her only response. She turned the dials slightly, and again called in earnest.

"Lynne? Cameron? Are you alright? For the love of God, please reply!"

There was nothing. The radios were mute, apart from the grey noise of the faint static. Perrine seemed to be frozen in place, her hand locked onto the yoke in a death grip. It seemed that the world had disappeared, that it had ceased to exist. She was alone now, exiled to a void filled with clouds. Her heartbeat began to quicken, gradually, and painfully. Once a smooth and steady rhythm, her breathing became a shuddering and emotion-laden labor. Her body seemed to grow cold... she began to feel tired... she felt lost.

"No... it can't have..." she began to sputter. "_He_ can't be..."

Distantly, a low bellow eminated from the cloud cover. It was deep guttural sound, a thing which seemed to echo through the clouds. The vibration it caused seemed to make the Spitfire quake, and shudder clear down to the rivets. The straw had broken the camel's back.

Eyes wide, brimming with tears, she sucked in a deep breath.

"_YOU BASTARDS!_" she wailed hysterically into the radio.

The sound came, loudly, broken and unnatural. The pitched changed as she pushed the sound, as though it were a whip being flailed about. It seemed so angry, so wrong... so focused that it echoed over the clouds, and even spanned a radio freuqency or two.

Once more, it seemed... these flying "things," these Neuroi... had taken something dear to her once again. It was there in the cockpit, that past emotions came like a flood from a broken dam.

* * *

The Dover base had been thrown into turmoil. The beam had been large enough that those in the transept of the topmost building could only watch in disbelief through its tall paneled-glass windows. Evacuation plans had been made, contingiency plans had been established, and a watchful eye was kept on the advancing Neuroi. It seemed that every person could only gaze mutely at the hulking object in the distance, with a combination of horror, shock, curiosity, rage, or otherwise. If it wasn't stopped soon, it would be their end.

The witches trapped inside the base knew nothing of what was to come. However, all could sense that their captor's plans had been thrown askew. The tension in the air filtered through to them in a fashion similar to the gust of wind from a subway train passing by a platform. Those who had the sensory abilities, however, did know what was coming. Unsure of what was to become of themselves, they instead chose to keep their wisdom hidden in an attempt to keep morale up. To most, the future seemed quite bleak indeed.

"Minna, how are you feeling?" Major Sakamoto asked with a slightly bitter tone.

She was kneeling on a rug, hunched over a radio set, with a headset settled over her ears. As though trying to hear more, she put a hand to one of the speakers as she worked the dials. Behind her, Minna lay on her back on the Major's uniform, which was spread out on the hardwood floor. Her own uniform was rolled up, and was used as a pillow. The windows near her desk rattled as they were whipped by wind and snow. They could see the same thing as Taylor had earlier, and if on the exact opposite side of the base, Mio could have seen the drama unfolding over the Strait.

In response to her query, a low moan rolled from Minna's lips like mist on the surface of a pond.

Sakamoto's eyes shifted to her left shoulder. "Huh?" she blurted, slowly sitting upright.

Turning to face her superior, she was not at all surprised to find Minna covering her face with her hands, her elbows in the air. Mio turned, and now was kneeling facing in her direction. With a sigh, she slid the headset off and placed it on the radio.

"I can't believe this..." she moaned. "It's all my fault."

Mio frowned. "That bad, huh?"

The commander drew her hands away, nodded solemnly. Mio smiled kindly, and tilted her head.

"Don't have such a bad outlook on this!" she said optimistically. "I'm sure they wouldn't let it hit Britannia, it'd be inhumane."

Minna shook her head. "It's a lie... complete bullshit," she stated. "It seems that I've slipped up too many times. First, our Marksman died under my command... and in her own country, for God's sake! After that, I lost Perrine who is our Gallian representative... the last fringes of their government, without a country. One loss to them now is like losing five of our own soldiers."

Sakamoto nodded quietly. "I understand where you're coming from... but... you had no way of knowing."

Minna turned her head, and fixed her gaze upon the Major. "But it's still my job to have a contingiency for such things," she replied angrily. "I've failed as a Commanding Officer, Mio. I thought I was doing my best... but now look at us. Cooped up in my own office, overthrown by our own allies, with every bit of furniture thrown against the door." Her eyes seemed to punctuate the statement, blazing with a ferocious anger.

As if to signify the truth in her superior's statement, Sakamoto glanced at the door to Minna's office. Being the only way into or out of the room, the mahogany desk that once faced the door was now used to block it, its end firmly planted against it. Any other items such as plant pots, chairs, tables, or otherwise were used to block the top half of the door, and weigh down the desk.

"A failure, huh?" the Major asked slowly.

Wordlessly Minna turned over, turning her back to her friend. Mio's eyes drooped slightly, and her expression grew dim.

"Well... all I can say is... I'm glad you're feeling better," she purred like a mother tending to her child. "As for those contingiencies... if you hadn't come up with any, then you wouldn't have a radio hidden away, and I wouldn't be here now, would I?"

Major Sakamoto's optimism and praise went unacknowledged. Shaking her head slowly, she clapped her hands on her thighs elbows out, and bowed slightly.

"In my book, you've done a better job than even I could have done. And I'm a few years your senior. You are marked with wisdom I lack, and it is moments such as these that I better understand why I do not yet hold higher rank."

Ending her statement, she then turned back to the radio, and crawled across the rug. The room went silent then, apart from the rattle of the windows, and the moan of the passageways. A calm seemed to settle over the two of them; a sort of feeling one gets when nothing can be done, except to carry on. Like the captain of the Titanic, they carried on with their course. Like the ship's band, they continued with their aid, and service. Despite the world crashing down around the two of them, Mio and Minna continued with their service duties, as though the world remained unchanged. Settling the headset back over her ears, Major Sakamoto began to work the dials again. She dialed slowly along the frequencies, and could have transmitted at any time she wanted to. There was a problem with this though. What she could send, privately, to any radio operator within the range of the unit, the men in the command center could hear as well. Unless an opportunity revealed itself... they could only listen.

Mio settled into her rhythm again; her ears plying the static for anything like sand through a sieve. Minutes seemed to pass... as though time itself waited for them, giving a chance. In the back of her mind, Mio found it miraculous that the Neuroi hadn't yet attacked the base. She could easily sense its close proximity, and if she tried, she could even see its core through the wall. Unable to act however, she could only tend to her radio, without even looking over her shoulder. As she scanned, she did hear other things besides just the normal military traffic. The civilian frequencies were acting up as well, she noticed. Fishermen had come across the hulking object in the skies, and reports were coming in like an avalanche. As was normal procedure, all were relayed to the Britannian Base... and all went acknowledged. Sure, the military was breathing yet another sigh of relief, confident that the Strike Witches would be dispatched hastily, and that their shores would once again be safe. However, they had no way of knowing what had become of their fighting girls. They had no way of knowing of the atrocity that had been committed. As the joke went during World War Two, for the Germans...

They'd be caught with their panzers down.

"I'm sorry," Mio mumbled softly, in a useless attempt to condole the innocent.

She was reaching the end of the dial now. The radio could go no higher in frequency. Where she was now, she knew, was the aviation frequencies. She twisted the dial onward, and was surprised to find the static 'patchy.' The aviation frequencies were only half as busy as the civvies, but were coming alive at a similar pace. She tuned past reports from cargo pilots, and casual conversation between fighters amongst squadrons. Orders relayed, concerns mentioned... it was all heard by her. She kept plying on, until suddenly the static blasted like a wall. With curiosity, she gazed at the dial.

"Only a handful of frequencies left..." she thought to herself.

With a sigh, she began to twist the dial. Not a single station was to remain untouched. As the wheel turned, it began to resist her coaxing fingers. She pushed it over, and was about to turn back... when she heard something.

"_YOU BA...TA...DS!_" the radio yelped at her between fading patches.

Time seemed to stop, and the sounds of the windowpanes and the snow seemed to fade. Major Sakamoto's hand froze, gripping the dial firmly, not daring to turn it further.

"No... it... it couldn't be..." she muttered in disbelief.

Behind her, Minna's ears pricked up. Slowly, she rolled over and listened, her curiosity piqued.

"What is it? Have you found something?"

Mio was as still as a statue. She stared at the radio dial, waiting for more, for yet another sound. Her heart began to sink when none came. By now, Minna was on her knees. She could sense the disbelief, and the shock which the Major reflected. Slowly, she crawled on her knees toward Sakamoto.

"Mio... give it a rest. I'm sure it's..."

"SHH!" she hissed, interrupting Minna. "I did hear something."

Slowly, and with apprehension, the Major's hand began to shake slightly. She reached for the radio dial, and moved it one single notch higher now.

"Minna..." she began. "I'm... I'm going to transmit. Be ready to repel anyone who tries to... enter."

Her superior paled. "_What_?"

"You heard me!" she snapped, her voice as hard as stone. "Get what you can, anything. It'll take nothing short of explosives to get through that door," she said firmly.

Slowly, Minna rose to her feet. Sakamoto adjusted the microphone, and flipped a switch. She then adjusted the transmit volume, and sucked in a deep breath. Her heart began to beat faster, not knowing what would happen. Her skin began to crawl, and her brow began to glisten. The Major paused, and nodded to herself.

Slowly, and almost painfully... she began to speak.

* * *

The Gallian could never recall being in such a melancholy state, one such beyond sorrow, and mourning. She had long since given up control of the aircraft, and had her face buried in her hands. She wept and wept, and her body heaved and shook uncontrollably. She refused to look at the interior of the plane she flew now, knowing it was a dead man's legacy. She cried so much, and so hard, that the cuffs of her uniform were damp. No longer could she keep herself together.

"_I'm sorry!_" she cried. "_I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!_"

Again, she began to wail. Her spectacles bore her teardrops now, which ran off her nose and to the lowermost point of the lense frames. By now, her throat hurt, and felt closed. From the long wail, she soon reduced herself to a choking sob. She hadn't felt so sad, or so guilty since the time long ago when Gallia had been overrun. She was long past anger now... she knew there was nothing that could be done.

"Hello?"

At first, Perrine continued to cry. She tuned out the distant voice, and her mind had rejected the sound. Again, however, the voice called faintly to her.

"Hello? Is there anyone out there?"

The voice was louder now, and registered to her ears. Slowly, the poor girl brought her tear-streamed face out of her hands.

"What?" she muttered to herself. "Who..."

Again the voice beckoned to her, this time a bit more demanding. "Please... if there's anyone out there, respond immediately! I haven't got much time!"

This time, the voice struck home. In recognition, an intense nausea built in the pit of Perrine's stomach. All the pain and hurt from the few minutes prior seemed to swell suddenly in her throat. Slowly, her hand rose, shaking erratically. With a painful slowness, she reached for the radio stack.

"_No... it couldn't be!_" she whispered to herself.

The tears felt hot now as they crept down her cheeks. It seemed almost impossible when her fingers finally came to settle on the transmit switch. She closed her eyes, and drew in a deep breath...

and finally flipped the switch.

"H-hello?" she said, her voice breaking, and shaky. "I... I hear you! Please, help me!"

Again, her resolve broke. She began to cry, still on the radio.

"_Please!_" she pleaded tearfully. "_Please, help me! A Neuroi is attacking the coast! My friends! They've been killed!_"

She was once again at a choking sob, and could speak no more.

* * *

The Major's face turned ashen. Nobody could be heard outside the door, but she assumed with an almost complete certainty that she had revealed their secret. The change in frequency had done the trick, and the voice had come with the correct clarity now. What was more though... was that she recognized it.

"M... Minna..." she muttered, almost drunkenly. "I... you..."

"What is it Mio?"

Slowly, she turned to face the commander. Minna could only tilt her head, and stare incomprehendably at the complete shock and awe etched into Mio's expression.

"You look like you witnessed someone rise from the dead."

The Major stared blankly, not knowing what to say. This went on for a period of a few minutes, with Minna itching with suspense. She spread her hands, palms up, and stared sideways at Sakamoto.

"What am I waiting for, Mio?" she asked slowly.

Her friend stared up at her, like the damned stare at the executioner's blade. "You can... take the five casualties off the... off the list."

Minna was confused at first. "Pardon me?"

Mio repeated the phrase, her voice becoming firmer. "You can... take the five casualties off the list," she said, with joy swaying in her tone. "What you said about the Gallians..."

The commander's eyes widened in recognition. "There's... absolutely... it's impossible! If she's alive, why hasn't anyone..."

Before she carried on, Minna stopped mid-sentence. "Wait! Mio, the radio! Answer her!" she demanded, leaning forward to put her own hands on the set.

The Major's body reacted sluggishly, as though sedated. Drunkenly, she flopped over onto her stomach, and groped for the headset. It felt like they were a criminal and a cop, both fighting for the one gun within reach, each trying desparately to kill the other. Sakamoto felt it miraculous when she managed to slip her fingers between the bands of the head rest. Minna on the other hand, landed on the Major. Stretched on top of Mio like a stacked pillow, she hurriedly shoved the headset onto Sakamoto's head, while the Major began to flip the switch and spoke at a rapid-fire pace into the reciever.

"_Perrine!_" she said with a rockiness in her voice, combined with her characteristic lilt in tone. "Is it really _you_?" she said, the shock still a tinge ever audible. "For all that's sacred, answer me! We thought you had been killed!"

With excitement lingering on giddy, but bordering on drunk, Mio dug her fingers into the speakers, shoving them firmly against her ears. Besides the tenseness which filtered randomly and sporadically through her body, the pace of her breathing increased slightly as though she were winded from exertion, and her heartbeat rose in tempo. Meanwhile, Commander Minna continued to lay on top of the Major, firmly holding her friend by the shoulders. She cocked her head slightly, and tried her hardest to listen to what came over the radio.

"Perrine!" she called once again. "Please, answer me! It's Mio!"

* * *

Cameron could never recall his body making a collision with such great force. Really, it was more than one force... and more like four. There was no warning, no knowledge, no hint of what was coming.

It just happened.

As he and Lynette hung suspended in the air, Taylor had closed his eyes, and rested his chin on the top of Lynne's head. He tightened his hold, and held her as close as he could in preparation for what he knew would be a sickening end. However, something compelled him to open one eye... to take one last fleeting glimpse of life and reality, before being plunged into the icy cold waters below. Almost inexplicably, his heart seemingly skipped a beat upon finding the cabin moving again, and righting itself. Moments later, the pair found the floor beginning to rise toward them. Cameron had no time. He only held Lynne tighter.

"Hang on!" he whispered to her.

They slammed into the flooring of the aisle with a thud, and slid a few feet. The forward section of the aircraft then began to rise upward, the pace increasing steadily. As Cameron and Lynne lay entwined on the floor, the inertial and centrifugal forces seemed to crush the two of them into it. She whimpered fearfully, not daring to show her face to the horrifying event. As the fuselage began to level out, the airframe began to shudder, and squeal in protest.

"C'mon, god damnit!" Cameron growled under his breath. "We're not out of the limelight yet! Keep up!" he continued, as though his words alone would coax the aircraft into remaining aloft.

As the plane continued to fight the inertial descent, a faint grinding began to eminate from the wings. This was also combined with the characteristic hiss of hydraulics, as well as an increased shuddering from which they began to vibrate, and moan with stress. Taylor listened intently, and a small grin cracked from the corner of his mouth.

"He's putting out flaps," he muttered into the frightened girl's ear, hoping that she would hear his reassurance. "By god, it's a gamble... they could jam... but I'd much rather have jammed flaps than a flooded aircraft."

It was then that the forces had begun to slacken. The shuddering of the aircraft began to decrease, steadily, as the forward momentum was lost. Faintly however, all could feel the continued descent of the C-47. Though it continued to slow, it seemed incredible that they hadn't come into contact with even the tips of the waves yet. Time continued and seconds ticked by, the seconds building into minutes, the minutes an eternity. Cameron and Lynne continued to lay on the floor, holding each other in a death grip and refusing to release one another. Still refusing to loosen his grip, Taylor put his hand on the back of Lynette's head, and began to stroke it gently. A couple of seconds later, he felt her head shift in his arms as she put the side of her head against his chest.

"Lynne... are you alright?" he asked softly. "Are you hurt? Did you bonk your head on anything?"

He continued to stroke the back of her head, tenderly and gently. He nuzzled her lovingly, while continuing to stare around the cabin of the aircraft. It was almost impossible, and seemed to be a miracle that they were still alive.

"Lynette?" he cooed softly, "_are you alright?_ We... I think... Cambridge kept us out of the drink. You can open your eyes now."

Finally, the frightened girl gave her response. At first, Cameron heard not but a mere squeak from her. He continued on, embracing her, unwavering, unerring in his movements. She then made another sound... something which blew from her lips, like a sudden sigh, forceful and emotional. He felt the front of his uniform and dress shirt grow hot with her breath. He could feel her begin to tremble, and shake in his arms. She began to breathe in shaky, erratic lungfuls, which seemed to take all the effort in the world to gather. She couldn't hold herself together. Cameron could feel the right lapel of his uniform beginning to dampen.

"Shh... It's _okay_ Lynne. Just breathe, I've got you," he pleaded soothingly. "You can cry, you mustn't hold back on my account."

He only felt her bury her face deeper. Soon, her body began to shake in his arms, and she began to weep softly. Trying his best, Cameron did all he could to soothe her.

"It'll be alright," he said warmly as he slid his hand from her head to her shoulders. "C'mon, let's sit up. We mustn't lay in this dirty old aisle forever."

She nodded as he began to sit upright. As gently and respectfully as he could, Cameron eased Lynne into a sitting position. She continued to cry, silently, her face contorting in anguish. Cameron sighed, and shook his head.

"We're alive!" she declared tearfully. "I can't believe that we're still alive!"

Crawling forward, Cameron swept Lynette into his arms. She continued to cry, still quivering with fear as she let loose sob after choking sob.

"_Shhhhhh..._" he whispered to her. "It's going to be alright, don't you worry. I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you, even if we don't necessarily know each other all that well."

He continued to kneel, as Lynette continued to dampen the shoulder of his uniform. After what seemed to be a minute had passed, he slowly began to shift his right arm. His heart still pounded from the adrenaline in his system, and his hand trembled uncontrollably. Slowly, he extended his fingers, and tentatively lowered his hand. Settling it onto her back, he paused a moment as it continued to shake. It was then Lynne began to take notice of how shaken he himself was.

"Here you are... comforting me... taking care of me..." she mumbled into the fabric of his uniform. "All these things, I'm grateful for... but... you haven't even paid attention to yourself!"

Slowly, Cameron began to move his hand. As calmly as he could, he then began to rub her back in an attempt to calm her. Gradually, the frightened girl began to relax. Knowingly, Taylor smiled contentedly, doing what he felt was his duty.

"Lynne... how can you say that? How can you assume that I sit here, without even giving my own condition a second glance?" A grin began to form at the corner of his lips. "_You're_ paying attention to me, as I pay attention to you. It's a trade. A fair one, and a good one."

Before they could carry the conversation further, the sound of someone stumbling down the aisle could be heard. Cameron partly broke the embrace, and glanced toward the forward cabin to find Ireland slewing drunkenly down the passage. With bemusement, he noted that Ireland's face was green with motion sickness. He chuckled softly, and turned back to Lynette once more.

"Listen..." he began, softly, "I've got to do a few things. Most importantly, I've got to see if Perrine is... alright," he explained, slowly rising to his feet. "I promise to get us all through this... and... also, I promise to uphold what I said earlier. During the fall. If push comes to shove, then we'll have a nice dinner together at the base when this all blows over."

Lynne stared blankly with bewilderment. Upon seeing her expression, Cameron only laughed again, knowing that she had briefly forgotten the statement. With a nod, he then extended his hand, and helped her to her feet before turning toward the cockpit.

"Oh... by the way..." he said, before disappearing, "I'd kiss you on the forehead as a finisher, but I don't know weather or not I'd get hit for it. Be back in a 'jiff, 'kay love?" he finished in the false British accent.

Dazedly, she nodded as Cameron breezed by the sickened armorer. Bumping into James on the way by, he had inadvertently caused the poor man to go into a wretching fit. In the meantime, Lynne continued to stare after him silently, her mouth hanging open. A tingling sensation slowly came over her body, and soon she found herself turning red and becoming flustered. After a few moments of the sensation, she finally broke from the trance into which she had become ensnared. She turned even redder with embarassment, and quickly tried to hide her face with her hands.

"Oh... oh my..." she said with a sigh. "I mustn't let James see me like this!" she muttered, shoulders drooping, and her expression changing to that of a laughable defeat. "He's a bit too amorous in his methods... that little deviant!"

**Post-Story Author's Note- If this appears to be a bit too much of a push... well... too bad. I finished this whilst watching the 2005 edition of The Producers, and my mind was doing barrel rolls. Please, I'd love to see some more comments. Maybe he and she'll look back on this and laugh... and laugh... and laugh. Ohhhhh boy.**

**SPRINGTIME FOR HARTMANN! Ha ha!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note- I've begun to put a bit more work into this now. Also since it's quite a bit beyond when I started, I considered changing the plot format wherein they're together for Christmas, or "Saturnus Festival." I thought, and I thought... but I decided against it. I can always do a story in the Summertime, and I've still got the second season to work with. I feel like a Twelve O' Clock High script writer; I have the planes, characters, brief stories, and otherwise... now it just comes down to fitting all the pieces together. Oh, and please... I'd love to see more reviews!**

**Oh, and before I forget...**

**On May 20th, 2011: I wish Wilma a very Happy Birthday, and very good tidings! If she were to be with us, I wish her a prosperous future and long life.**

**I can't wait for June. Her sister's is on the eleventh. Mine's on the twentieth.**

Through The Storm

Chapter 12-

Setting aside the brief personal moment for a time, Cameron rushed into the cockpit. Despite the fact that the sudden nosedive had been controlled, Taylor still felt a distant tinge of concern for their pilot as he bolted forward. Without hesitation, he opened the door to the cockpit and stepped inside.

"George, are you alright?" he began. "Thank god for that maneuver, you really saved our asses back there!"

The pilot's head swiveled. "Oi, who... Taylor? Hey kid, is that you? Where the hell are you? What's my heading? Altitude?"

At first, Cameron failed to sense anything wrong with the man at the controls. Pausing for a moment, he gazed through the windshield of the cockpit at the grey seas and storm. After a few seconds, taking his fill of the view, he then scanned the controls and read off the numbers to Cambridge.

"Alright George," he began. "We're about a hundred feet up, airspeed at one-hundred seventy-five knots. We're on a slight north by northwesterly heading of three-hundred twenty-five degrees. Do you think you can hold out until we reach the base?"

Cameron glanced at George, awaiting his answer. His head continued to swivel, and the man seemed unsure of his movements. He blinked rapidly, and groped around the controls.

"N... no... I... I cannot!" he stammered. "Cameron... that beam... I'm blind!"

"What?" he blurted with puzzlement. "What beam?"

"I'm goddamned blind! It was a Neuroi!" he exclaimed. "For the love of god, that beam seared my eyes! I am unable to fly this thing, you'll have to take over!" he shot, groping for the latch on his safety harness.

The nose of the aircraft began to dip then, and the altimeter needle began to sway backward. Without pause, Cameron quickly slid into the copilot's seat, and pulled back on the controls.

"Alright George... alright, I've got the aircraft," he said as he craned his neck to see over the panel before him. "How... how blind are you?"

Cambridge worked the latch free, and rose from his seat. "I'm... I..." he began, twisting in his position. Shakily, he lifted a foot high, attempting to step over the center console in between the two seats. He moved forward, slowly, blindly feeling his way toward the back of the cockpit. To his dismay as well as Cameron's, the edge of the sole of his combat boots snagged on the panel. He lost his grip then, and fell in a heap into the passageway.

"George!" he shouted with shock. "Jesus man, get up!" he said as he stared forward, adjusting the bank of the aircraft. His vision began to shift between the horizon and the consoles again, and he began to reach for a series of wheels near the edge of the seats. Grasping the one facing fore and aft, he began to push and pull it, adjusting the pitch of the freighter. "Alright... alright, George, can you do something for me?"

The pilot was desparately clawing for a handhold, attempting to lift himself to his feet. "Wha... what is it?"

"Send Lynne up here! I'm going to need her assistance! If she doesn't listen, get Ireland to drag her up here, but for god sake, I need her next to me!"

There was another thump as Cambridge tripped his way back. "Sure... sure thing!" he replied uneasily. "If I can feel my way back, it'll be but just a moment!"

The blind man went silent afterward, at which point Cameron continued to trim the controls. He adjusted the throttles slightly, and set the nose for a slight climb. He would poke and prod the pitch wheel every so often, until the artificial horizon quivered slightly above the level flight marking. Satisfied that the aircraft was on even keel, he slowly eased himself from the copilot's seat.

"Okay..." he muttered, easing himself over the center controls. "Easy... easy does it..."

Slowly and awkwardly, he lifted one leg into the air. Easing it into the footwell of the captain's seat, he found himself straddling the switches and throttle levers. One error could send him pitching forward, landing on the levers and sending the plane leaping forward. Despite having a few hundred feet of grace altitude, it would be eaten in a matter of moments by the thrashing propellers. He closed his eyes, and sucked in a breath. "Alright, now the next one..." he mumbled. "One... two... three!"

He pulled his leg up, and heaved himself sideways. He barely cleared the black knobs of the throttles as he crashed into the side panel of the captain's position. Scrambling to right himself, he hurriedly stuffed his foot down, and planted both feet firmly on the foot pedals, which served the purpose of turning the tail rudder and braking. He sat silently for a moment, taking deep breaths, and attempting to slow an already pounding heart. There was a patter of footsteps then, and a gentle knock at the door.

"Ah... Cameron?" Lynette queried softly, "you... well... George stumbled back, and told me that you needed my help. He's acting rather... odd. Is he alright?"

Taylor shook his head. "Not at all, the poor soul. He's been blinded by some damned beam. Says it came from one of those _Neuroi_ creatures."

She gasped with shock. "My goodness, there's a Neuroi?" she asked concernedly as she glanced over her shoulder. Cameron waved her off with his right hand. "I haven't a clue where it might be... but whatever it did blinded George. Please my dear, I need you to sit in the copilot's seat," he said, gesturing to the empty seat. "It's vital that you work the radios. We need to re-establish contact with Perrine, and keep an eye out for whatever happened."

She nodded, and eased her curvaceous legs past Cameron into the copilot's footwell. "I... I understand!" she said affirmingly. The tone came solid, almost self-assuringly.

Cameron smiled. "Good then!" he said cheerfully. He then paused a moment, gazing over the controls, and trimming the aircraft again. He then promptly turned back to Lynne. "So, have you ever flown a multi-engine before?"

Lynette shook her head. "Only my Spitfire. Never in my life... well... there was that time when I was a young girl."

Taylor nodded. "Good enough," he said slowly. He then pointed to the yoke positioned immediately before Lynette. "Hold this will you? I've got to put on my headset."

Waiting patiently, he watched as she wrapped her fingers around the grips of the controls. He then carefully eased his hands away, and watched as she compensated for the change in back pressure from them, once he no longer held command. He pointed to the wheels and settings adjacent to her seat.

"Alright, got it? As you know, pitch and yaw wheels, alright? It'll be just one moment," he explained before hurriedly searching for the pilot's headset. He looked around the half of the cabin, checking the hook immediately behind his seat. Finding it vacant, he then scanned the boards and surfaces before looking down. He was not at all surprised to find the set wedged behind the left rudder pedal. He bent down, coaxed it free, and carefully clamped the speakers over his ears.

"And I'm back," he said with a sigh. "I'll hold it now, while you get yours; I left them hanging on the hook above when I left," he explained as Lynne slipped the equipment on. Once the set was comfortably settled on her head, Cameron nodded. "'Aight, getting back to the conversation... what was the aircraft, and what exactly did you do?"

She smiled, and tilted her head slightly as she began to look for the radio stack. "It was a long time ago, in a Blenheim with me Dad. I was about five then."

Cameron chuckled. "That's wonderful. You must've been just so happy!"

She shook her head. "I was... until he took me to the bombardier's seat. God, I thought I was going to fall out... scared out of my wits!" she said, looking away. "God... bloody hell..." she grumbled angrily. "Where in the hell is the radio?"

Grinning, Taylor pointed to a set of dials toward the center of the forward control panel. "Right there Lynne."

She looked at Cameron, and glared. "Yes... thank you..." she said in a huff. "And by the way, you had best wipe that car-salesman grin off your face before I _take it off_, you twit."

He then dropped the grin and rolled his eyes, sighing. "Sure, whatever you say Lynne," he muttered dejectedly. "Gosh, that's some punishment you've come up with there... I can't even begin to imagine you _taking it off_," he finished in a suggestive tone. After a moment of waiting, he smiled evilly as he watched her reaction. Her cheeks became deeply flushed in a shade of crimson, and her expression was as though someone had stepped on her tail had it emerged.

"_GRRRR_..._don't make me hit you!_" she spat with embarassment, as Cameron giggled like a schoolgirl.

* * *

**Brief Author's Note- For better reading, listen to Mull of Kintyre by Paul McCartney and Wings. It fits the story in my humble opinion. Sure it's about Paul's farm in Scotland, but it works doesn't it? The men think of their home in the way that McCartney thought of his farm.**

It had been a tearful over-the-radio reunion between Perrine and Mio. As the Major and her subordinate conversed, precious minutes were lost whilst Mio worked to coax a description of their current peril. An estimated five minutes had passed since the beginning of the radio transmissions, and the girls were just now reaching the topic of the supposedly downed freighter.

"Perrine, how are you holding out?" Sakamoto asked concernedly.

Perrine, who was now flying a slight search pattern, sniffed through a runny nose whilst squinting her stiff eyes. "I'm... I'm doing fine," she managed to sputter. "I'm performing a search right now."

Sakamoto's eyebrow rose. "A search? For what, a plane?"

"Yes!" she replied immediately. With a confused expression, Mio glanced over her shoulder at Minna, who now sat cross-legged behind her. She found herself shifting uncomfortably once the Major's gaze met her own.

"Yes Mio?"

"She said something about a search," she said darkly. "Should I make an inquiry?"

Minna leaned back, and stared at the ceiling. She was silent for a bit, her eyes glazing as she turned the statement over in her mind. Slowly, Major Sakamoto became impatient as she awaited the verdict. Eventually however, Mio got an answer.

"Yes... yes, I would like you to make in inquiry. You said she mentioned some friends, without elaboration. If there are downed aircraft out there, we need to make a call for help as soon as possible."

Mio nodded. "Thank you," she said as she turned to face the radio once more. "Perrine? Perrine, are you still there?"

"Yes Major," she replied softly.

Mio gestured toward Minna. "I need a notepad and pen, so I can take notes. We need to provide a description for rescuers should the need arise." "Yes Mio," she replied before rising to her feet. She returned shortly thereafter, and pressed a fountain pen and clipboard with blank sheets into her friend's waiting hands.

"Okay, Perrine. Tell us what you know about those... friends... that you mentioned."

As the base commanders worked toward a short-term debriefing, the situation was slowly beginning to spiral out of control. As figured, Maloney had evenly sprinkled the base with his large contingient of men. As the Neuroi came closer, however, the men were now ordered to regroup and focus on defenses. It was to be, as the artilleryman once said, "bows and arrows against the lightning." They quickly constructed and manned portable flak cannons, established gun nests, and even took up mere rifles against the inbound threat. Some of the more competent few went to the trouble of browsing the armory, but few could put to use the only rifles effective enough to counter. On top of that, a handful of men even considered the most effective decision, which was to release the witches. They quickly backed down upon threat of firing squad or court martial, which most assumed would come to fruition.

As the events began to unfold, a large mass of the men found themselves lined and at the ready for orders, standing shoulder to shoulder in the taxi area immediately before the base hangar. The snow and wind whipped them, stinging like millions upon millions of tiny whips. All around, the men felt like they were standing in an immense valley lined by vertical cliffs, while if it were to be a clear day they would have seen tarmac with a long runway stretching into the distance, whilst the cliffs would be seen as the chalk white masonry of the administration buildings and hangars. In light, the base seemed to be a marvel of engineering, and a temple of aviation to some. In the darkness and the dim however, it stood menacingly like some thing, unmoving and massive like a personified war machine hunched in the water.

It was on the outstretched maw of this creature of war that the men stood, waiting. All watched as an officer would step forward, and section off a set of the forces. He'd shout out their orders, organize them into a contingient, and set a commander for the group. Shortly thereafter, he'd send them on their way to what all assumed to be certain death. A darkness overshadowed the men, who stood silently like the damned awaiting the executioner. There was no hope, no inkling of a successful battle. Despite the fact that all of them could have quite easily turned on their commanding officer, none were willing to risk a death by the Air Marshal's vast connections. The soldier's faces reflected a hollow, lifeless look to an unknown audience. None felt proud, or bold, or powerful. They knew that their fighting would be worthless, and that they were a pointless sacrifice for one man's ego.

Apart from the rest of the men and their fanatical "leader," however... one man had different aims and goals in mind.

At the current moment though, he stood with the rest of the men as ordered. But, unlike the rest of them, his eyes were seemingly ablaze and fierce and alert. They shifted, scrutinized, observed. They scanned, they probed, they memorized. A spark almost seemed to wink from his gaze, and he even stood taller and more proud than the rest of the men. He seemed to be like a man who thought he was invincible, who was currently standing in front of the Pines Express as it thundered toward him at around ninety miles per hour as he figured how to dodge the thundering drivers and chattering guides of the locomotive. He watched quietly as the section of men next to him were cut away like a slice from a square cake. He heard the officer.

"Forward garrison duty!"

It was a death sentence, and the first position on the fortification that would be hit. The once squared shoulders all drooped simultaneously. They knew it too, and reflected an already deathly feeling as they sluggishly slung their rifles up over their shoulders. They all stood then, rooted to the spot, like starved slaves lingering at the slave's quarters. The officer grew impatient with their pause, and soon barked at them to move. Moments later, the men shambled off to what would be their last battle, the last men to make a final stand against an impenetrable force. The man continued to watch, his lips drawn into a thin line. The officer coughed in the cold, blistering winds, and stepped in front of him. It was his turn for the guillotine.

"You, Sergeant!" the man spat. The man with the fierce gaze saluted. "Sir!"

The officer stared, taken aback by the slight resolve. The tone caused him to stand mute for a moment, and he even briefly considered putting the man on a defensive position. Slowly however, he reconsidered the decision once he recalled the orders he was about to issue. With a sigh, he bowed his head slightly. A grim smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth.

"You..." he said in a low tone, almost a growl. "You... yes, what to do with you," he said as he contemplatively put a gloved hand to his chin. "I believe your... attitude... has earned you a _special_ duty."

The man feigned a shocked look then. "Oh, I apologize sir. I do not mean to come off as worthless." Once he stopped, the officer waved his hand as though brushing off a branch. "Oh no, not any sort of punishment! I admire your resolve, sergeant."

The man tilted his head slightly, as though puzzled. "Well... if I may ask... sir... what are my orders?" The officer grinned. "_You_ will take this allotment of men," he said as he gestured partitions with his hands, "and round up our... hosts. Make sure you have _each_ and _every single one_, and make sure there is no resistance." The unnamed sergeant nodded. "And once I have them?"

The officer clicked his heels, and straightened. "Once you have the witches, bring them to me."

"Yes sir," the sergeant replied. He began to turn to address the men, but then stopped. "Sir?" he asked, turning halfway around. "If it does not question your authority and anger you, may I make an inquiry as to what you will do with them?"

**Brief Author's Note- Fade away Mull of Kintyre, and begin playing John Lennon and Yoko Ono's Bloody Sunday.**

The officer grunted, and fixed a hard gaze on the man. "Well... I suppose it couldn't hurt. In fact, you may find it to be a... bit of a condolence for your efforts, seeing as we're all going to lose anyway." He coughed again from the biting cold, and blinked the tears from his eyes. "Yes... I'm sure you heard about the men I put on the forward garrisons correct?"

The sergeant nodded. "Yes sir. They seemed rather hallowed by the news too."

"Indeed," the officer continued. "They should be scared, and they should indeed be frightened. As you and I both know, it will be the first place this thing will strike. They'll be killed almost instantly." He paused for a moment, and turned his back to the sergeant. By now, most of the men watched silently, their expressions dark. No amount of death and fear could hamper their curiosity as they watched the officer stare angrily into the fog and snow. He peered into the sky then, and began to speak in a booming voice.

"I'm not sure if you know it... but I've always held a deep contempt for these blasted fool witches!" he declared as though giving a prophecy or commandment. "And so, sergeant, once you bring them to me... I fully intend to put them to service again, don't you fret!"

A cheer began to murmur through the rows and columns of men the officer had turned from. A sneer spread from his lips, and he turned to face them.

"Yes, you should all be proud!" he proclaimed. "_But_... they will be doing something much more honorable than donning those utterly stupid, utterly worthless striker units!"

In response, the cheering eerily ceased, and was quickly replaced by the howling winds and blinding snow. The officer laughed heartily, and coughed from the cold once more. His cap shifted, and he straightened to adjust it. Moments later, he was leering at the soldiers again.

"No, they won't be flying gentlemen. They'll be joining the brave men of the forwardmost garrison."

* * *

Perrine's face felt as though it were covered in sand; it was the salty layer which remained from crying herself dry. Her glasses were blurred from the remains of her tears, and she hurriedly cleaned the lenses with her uniform. Glancing up from the control panel, she found the base lain directly before the nose of the Spitfire. It was growing larger by the minute as she continued to accelerate toward it. Nearby, the clouds glowed slightly, and a dark behemoth was shrouded within their haze. She stared at it angrily, and welled up a bit of saliva on the tip of her tongue.

She about spit on the inside of the canopy, when her thoughts and anger were broken by the squawk of the radio. Without a care, she swallowed the damp projectile, and flipped the transmit switch on the set. "Yes... Major, is that you?"

On the other end, Mio adjusted and replied. "Yes, I'm still here Perrine," she said with a hard tone. "I still cannot begin to fathom what you have told me! Lynette is still alive? Who is this man who saved the two of you? Is he with her?"

Perrine shook her head sadly, despite the fact that the Major could not see her. "I don't know Mio. The two of them... they were on board the freight aircraft when it disappeared."

This invoked a long silence from Sakamoto, before she said anything more to the lone pilot. "Oh. I... I see," she said disdainfully as she looked away from the set. Behind Mio, Minna looked down toward the floor, though not privy to her words still able to piece together the conversation. Sakamoto sighed defeatedly once more, and continued on. "Perrine, _listen._ I have some news for you." The Gallian nodded slowly to herself. "I understand. What is it?"

"It pertains to the defences of the base," she began. "While you were on your way here, closing the distance, I decided to put an ear to the ground and see what was happening. They caught wind of the Neuroi, and have stationed cannons and flak guns along the eastern side of the base."

Perrine nodded. "Thanks for the warning, Major. How do you recommend I proceed?"

The radio was silent for a bit, as Mio contemplated her next order. The seconds which passed seemed like days or hours to Perrine, as she sat with an agonizing feeling of anticipation and suspense. Soon enough however, the reply came to her.

"Perrine... you must... fly. Come straight at them. If you can, present your undercarriage, flash your wings and markings. Whatever you do, make _absolutely sure_ that they see you as friend, and not foe. They will not fire, and even if their commander says otherwise, they still won't fire, or I'm at least hoping not." She sighed into the mic, almost regretfully. "You must trust me Perrine."

The Gallian never gave the order a second thought. "I understand your orders, Major. I will follow them to the letter!"

On the other end of the connection, Mio feigned her infamous, almost sarcastic booming laugh, before settling into a sigh. "Yes..." she murmured. "I'm certain of it."

As the Major was waiting, Perrine started to engage the throttle. The engine surged with power, and the aircraft leapt forward once again. Focusing her gaze on the eastern shoreline of the base, she began to pick out the minute details as she made her advance. As she came closer to the base, she could begin to pick out the matchstick-sized barrels of the flak cannons and anti-aircraft guns. As expected, she watched as the barrels began to creep on their axis and train on her aircraft. On the ground, the men clustered around the guns, and watched through binoculars.

"Inbound target, about two miles out!" one shouted as an estimate. "Identify the aircraft!"

As the men worked to figure out what was coming at them, Perrine began to maneuver the plane to reveal her livery. She flew in a pattern similar to a ski slalom, banking hard and zig-zagging back and forth. On each pass, she would either expose the top of the aircraft, or the belly of the aircraft, showing the classic insignia and markings on the aircraft. Eventually, the men with binoculars made an identification.

"Never mind, it's a fighter! Aircraft type is Supermarine Spitfire. We may or may not have reenforcements. It might be a patrol," the man delcared, turning to face the others. "Do we have a way to raise them? We need to get the word out!"

Most of the gunners shook their heads in unison. The leader of the crew glowered, and stared at the ground. "Alright then!" he shouted firmly. "Well... it was worth a shot if we could've."

As if to punctuate his words, Perrine ripped by overhead, the Merlin snarling as she whipped by. The men only watched mutely, their eyes panning after the aircraft. She was coming fast at a wall now, edged by two turrets. With ease, she pulled the nose up, banked, and threaded the aircraft between the structures with an incredible finesse. Moments later, she was gone into the whirling fog and snow.

"Major!" she called over the radio. "Major, they did not fire! They see me, and they hear me!"

Mio listened as the snarling engine thundered by, the walls of Minna's room seemingly trembling from the force. She laughed. "We hear you too Perrine. Now that you're here, just start circling the base. Keep us updated on what you can see."

"Yes Major!"

* * *

As the officer finished speaking, a strange sound resonated through the skies. The man froze, listening intently. The sound to him, and to many others, was familiar; it was a steady blast, a roar. As it drew nearer, the sound began to reverberate around them with a rip that sounded like someone putting a piece of paper through a fan blade. It traveled, and warped, moving the air with an almost visible vibration.. It echoed off of the surrounding buildings, and seemed to drop in behind them. The officer's eyes narrowed.

"What... what the hell?" he growled. "There aren't... there aren't any aircraft! That sounds like... that's a..."

The aircraft was passing low now, and coming right toward the group of soldiers. The officer turned toward the sound now, and watched as the silhouettes of men began to part and duck. They shouted in fear and protest as a dark shape came low, with long wings cantilevered slightly, long barrels of machine guns and cannons protruding from the leading edges of its wings. The roar was animal now, snarling to the point that one could possibly pick out the sound of indvidual pistons snapping from the combustion. It was a scene that was one of the most menacing to anyone on the ground. The feeling of sheer terror when something big, an aircraft, a World War Two fighter was coming at you. Suddenly you realize it's coming _for_ you, to the point that you can see the frontal planform, the blurr of the props, the pilot's face, the guns. Many a man defending the Hawaiian islands felt that same terror, when the zero fighters were strafing them and cutting them down, holing their aircraft and blowing Wheeler Field to hell amongst other events. They would watch mesmerized, before panic set in. As a man would tear his eyes from the coming aircraft the pilot would ease the trigger, and tongues of flame would lick from the muzzles of the guns and cannons. A force like a mercury-tipped bullet would hit them once, then twice. Soon, they were gone.

If it didn't happen, the images of the coming carnage would flash through the mind of any person who was unsure of the pilot's intentions. It was a scenario similar to the "deer-in-the-headlights" reaction. Things were different this time around, however. Since the aircraft had appeared suddenly, coming low and fast, the men reacted appropriately, like mice scattering from a mouse nest as it was torn apart. Many tripped and fell, and soon men were tyring to escape as they climbed on top of each other. The officer stood, facing the aircraft indifferently now. He glared angrily at the craft as it came at him, as though he could stand and watch the nose of the propeller plow into his chest, shatter the blades, and crumple the fuselage.

The soldier before the man, with whom he had spoken moments ago, also stared at the aircraft. Seeing the officer's attention was drawn, he grinned broadly; what most would call a shit-eating grin. With a sigh, he turned to the group he had been assigned.

"Gentlemen!" He shouted over the roar of the coming aircraft. "I have a different idea in mind, seeing as our friend here is distracted. When you duck _do not scatter!_ We need to remain together chaps, and I'll need your help!"

The men jerked their heads up and down in agreement, before plunging to the tarmac. Many slammed their chins into the ground as they "hit the deck," and clamped their hands over their combat helmets. The maneuver was difficult, for unlike other helmets the Britannian design had a brim like an explorer's hat. Those who had rifles quickly slung them down, holding them to the ground as the fighter passed overhead. Miraculously, the officer remained standing.

"Get down you cockhead!" the sergeant shouted. "You'll be killed!"

The plane was upon them now, and the officer stared at the sergeant with a mask of rage. "I STAND DOWN FOR NO MAN!" he snarled angrily. Suddenly, a shadow loomed overhead. As the men lay on their bellies transfixed, time seemed to slow. Their eyes widened as the edge of the blurred propeller blades inched closer and closer to the mad man's head. It seemed that at any moment, the tips would hit their mark and gore would spray halfway across the taxiway. Many slammed their eyes shut, but the mischievious sergeant watched with a curious expression. The first tip made contact, and the officer's cap began to flip. Suddenly, it disappeared in a blur, and the officer was thrown to the ground. Time returned to its pace once more, and the plane was gone. The sergeant could hardly supress a bellowing laugh as he spotted the markings on the fuselage and wings. It was a daredevil of the men of Biggin Hill, and an ace too. It had a blue nose; the man was good, and he had a sense of humor.

Soon, the thunder of the engine began to subside, and a gust of wind kicked at the men's backs. The fog and snow continued to swirl violently in the draft left by the passing aircraft. The sergeant looked around, and found the surrounding area plunged into pure bedlam, and turmoil. With a cough, he picked up his rifle, and eased himself to his feet.

"Whoever that was..." he said aloud, "I must thank later."

He grinned then, and walked purposefully to the downed officer. Without bothering to crouch, he used a booted foot to nudge the man's head left and right by the cheek. There was no damage, and the man's head was still in one piece. He was unconscious. With a smile, the man then looked to his left. A few feet away, the officer's cap lay in tatters, with a massive gash cutting halfway through it and the band. It looked like someone tried to toss the cap, then swat it from the sky with a machete. It was a surprise that the prop had done nothing more than knock the cap off.

With a chuckle, the sergeant eased his foot away from the man, and turned on his heel. Half the allotment of soldiers had already regained their feet, and stood calmly as the chaos unfolded around them. Some stared indifferently, others wore a bemused expression. The sergeant stood proudly now, taking the place of the officer. He began to address the men.

"So chaps..." he began as though in the middle of a conversation. "Take a look around you. Isn't it _sad_ that only one plane makes a low fly-by from nowhere, and we're already in a freakout condition?" He laughed, as did the other men. The hallowed and deathly expressions quickly faded from their features, and they stood proud and fearless, exactly like their leader. One of the men took a short step forward, and raised his hand like a schoolboy asking a question.

"Sah?"

"Yes?" the sergeant said, nodding.

The man looked behind his superior. "Is he... ah... alright? You seem to have left him there just kind of... as a decoration, or a doormat."

The man laughed heartily. "Oh my yes, he's just dandy! He just got a knock on the head, that's all. He'll wake up in a bit though, so I suggest we disappear."

The men shifted as one, and put their heels together. They saluted briefly, and let their arms drop to a rest at their sides. The sergeant nodded. "Alright then boys, here's what we're going to do. It seems that another force, besides mine, has intervened. I'm glad that Ianna lent you all to me, 'cause I'll need every bit of your efforts. Understand?"

They all nodded silently. The sergeant grinned. "Jolly good! Let's get started, and go through with what that idiot over there said."

"Sah!" they all shouted.

Without another word, the sergeant then wove around the men, and charged toward the menacing cliffs in the distance. The men, taken off guard by the sudden start, all barreled after him. They had to shoulder aside other masses of bodies, and weave in between scared and confused men, some of whom were just the drafting age of eighteen. They plied on relentlessly through the chaos, making their way closer and closer to the distant hangar.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note- Well everyone, here I am again to feature... what is this Lynne, the thirteenth chapter? Yes? Oh, okay. Yeah, so I'm here for the thirteenth chapter. *grins* I hope that this has been good reading thus far. I've been typing this on other computers, and I'm now typing this on a computer I got just today. I'm currently writing on a MacBook Pro, and it hasn't disappointed me yet. The only downside is the fact that I got a game today... Just Cause 2. I tried to plug it in just for the hell of it... nothing happened. It does piss me off a little bit, but oh well. I'd much rather be writing this for everyone. There are two things I enjoy doing quite a lot, and that's to write and game. And I'm all outta' games.**

**Oh, and by the way... I wish dearest Lynette the best birthday, for the 11th of June! God, how I wish I could've done more. Sue me.**

Through The Storm

Chapter 13-

Cameron and Lynne were on top of the base now, and overflew the complex as she began to dial the radio. Banking to miss a turret, he began to scan the landscape below for the runway. In his haste to make a sit-rep, or situation report, he had forgotten to ask his newly-appointed copilot for directions to line up with the runway. They were minutes beyond the arrival time now, but it meant nothing to either of them. Whilst they and Perrine were busy flying around the base, and Major Sakamoto and Commander Minna were relaying orders in plain sight, the Neuroi was coming around for another run. The first person to realize this was Cameron himself, when he moments later came face to face with the creature... in his windshield.

Having banked away from the turret, he had blindly turned toward the east to make another run at the base. He turned his decision over in his mind, and backed it with logic.

"Hmm... if the threats come only from a general direction..." he thought, "then that would mean that the runway points that way as well." He trimmed the aircraft again, and kept the nose directly on a heading of ninety degrees. "I'll go this way for about a mile or two, and make a tight bank and return back." He set the throttles, and continued onward.

After a few minutes more of flying, he was surprised to find the clouds thinning around the aircraft. He watched the wisps of mist dissipate with a mute curiosity, until there were none left. He glanced over his instruments; fifteen-hundred feet, heading zero-niner-zero, going one-hundred sixty knots. He nodded to himself, sure of his readings, before shifting his gaze to the fuel gauge. As his eyes began to dart back and forth, he was broken from his task by a small gasp from Lynette. He glanced at her with concern, and was shocked to find her face turned ashen. Her jaw hung, mouth agape, and her eyes were wide and ringed with lines similar to crows feet. He was shocked at the transformation of fear over her features.

"Lynne? Lynne, are you alright?" he asked with concern. He received no response, and henceforth extended his hand. Grabbing her by the left shoulder, he shook her gently to gain her attention. "Lynne!" he demanded, "What's wrong? Answer me!"

He watched silently as she continued to shake, and sputter with shock. Slowly, a quaking arm rose with the index finger extended. It began to rise, straight and true, to indicate an obstacle in front of the aircraft. Soon, her arm was outstretched and her finger pointed to something dead ahead; Cameron shifted his gaze. Soon, his jaw also hung limply.

"Dear... dear Lord!" she murmured like an insane person, "It's right there... r-right in front... in front of us! Turn the plane, you bloody fool! It's massive, my god!"

Cameron's gaze froze on the huge craft in the windshield, and he could only stare with a dumbstruck fascination. Like the monkeys who were drawn by the strange awe of the monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey, so too was he drawn by the Neuroi's awe-inspiring appearance. He stared with a blank expression, and leaned into the windshield. He began to note the features, slurred slightly, and paying no heed to the controls. Slowly, the nose of the freighter began to dip.

"Dear god... Lynne, look at that! Have you ever seen anything like this? That huge wingspan! It looks like a... a giant B-29!" Cameron prodded her in the arm, and pointed. "See those Lynne? See that? Those pods, they look like engines... pusher engines!" He watched, a strange, alien smile spreading across his lips. "Wow, this is... what... what in the hell is it doing?"

He focused on a point on the fuselage that had begun to glow. One of the red honeycomb markings was beginning to "warm up." Lynne stared at Cameron now, with horror and incomprehension as he was seemingly oblivious to the dire situation. Shakily, Lynette turned to face the yoke in front of her. She blinked for the first time in minutes, and shakily reached for the yoke. Cameron continued to ramble on, still hypnotically curious about the functions of the Neuroi. He was under a spell it seemed, and it was up to only Lynne now to save them. She finally wrapped her petite and now icy fingers around the yoke now. Her lips parted slightly, and she stared with an unsure feeling at the controls. The Neuroi's armament was at full boot now, and it was either her response or their death.

"Dear god, Lynne... I think..."

Suddenly, the plane dropped from beneath him. There was yet another bout of shouting from the passenger and cargo cabin as the nose fell, and had he not been strapped in Cameron would have been thrown against the ceiling of the cockpit. His mind broken from the strange hypnosis, Cameron's gaze instantly swiveled to Lynne. She had the controls clear into the control panel, and her eyes were hard as her lips were pursed. He stared mutely for a moment, before the gravity of the situation struck home. In the same instant that Lynette had evaded, the Neuroi fired its beam and tracked after the aircraft. The red shaft of light swept across the sky, toward the west. Though not the intended target, the beam did hit something; had Lynne evaded moments later, the craft would have done what is called "Leading the target." The beam would have been in front of the nose, and the two of them would have been killed instantly. Instead of the aircraft however, the beam hit the original target of attack, sweeping across the runway of the Dover airbase at the outbound threshold. It was miraculous that none of the men on the taxiway were killed as the runway was effectively severed from the rest of the airbase. Lynne continued to bank, putting the plane into a spiral as she descended toward the sea. Suddenly, the beam appeared in front of the aircraft. She banked hard in the opposite direction, and jammed on full left rudder. Without a moment's hesitation, Cameron grabbed the yoke as well.

"I've got it, don't worry!" he barked. "I'm sorry about that, but I don't know what came over me!"

Lynne was gulping in large volumes of air, attempting to keep herself calm. Keeping one hand on the yoke, she found herself drenched in sweat as she dragged a sleeve of her uniform across her forehead. She glanced at Cameron now, and was shocked to find him unchanged as though the Neuroi or the events related to its attack had never phased him. They were nearing the surface of the water again, and so he pulled the nose up. The aircraft darkened now, passing underneath the Neuroi as it now headed north. Cameron trimmed it again, compensating for the increase in airspeed as he banked once more. He kept turning now, until he had the nose pointed toward the fog-shrouded airbase. Lynne clutched the yoke until her palms were red, and her knuckles white. She still did not trust the man next to her, who had only moments before been oddly captivated by the alien craft. Cameron glanced at her once more, and noted how fearfully she grasped the controls.

"Lynne? I'm... please, it's alright. I'm fine now... I don't know what happened." He began to reach for the frightened girl, and was stopped suddenly when her head jerked in his direction. He was shocked to find an icy look baring him down in his seat. "Don't touch me!" she spat. "Don't you dare touch me, you monster!"

Cameron gasped. "What do... monster? You can't be serious!" He tried to reach for Lynette once more, and again she shied away. "Damnit, come here! I'm fine!"

"YOU ALMOST GOT US KILLED!" she shrieked. "WHY SHOULD I TRUST YOU? DON'T YOU DARE TRY ANYTHING!" She sounded still with an animalistic fear, and was bordering now on hysteria. Cameron could only sit helplessly in his seat, watching as the fear-torn girl began to tear herself apart. He continued to plead for her trust, still leaning toward her. "Lynne, stop it! You've got to get a hold of yourself woman, by god!" He shifted his attention to the skies in front of the aircraft, and noticed they were entering the fog bank. "C'mon now Lynne, snap out of it! You're the only one who can guide me to the runway!"

At that moment, the frightened girl began to enter a choking sob, weeping like there was no end. "How can I trust you? How... after what happened? You were... it was awful! You did nothing, and you would have let us fly into the thing had I not been here! I can't trust you! I don't know what will... no! Just please... don't... please! PLEASE!" She drew her legs up, and entered a fetal position in her seat. Cameron swallowed hard, and watched for a few more moments. They were too far into the fog bank now, and so he forced his gaze back to the windshield. Their airspeed was now down to one-hundred twenty knots, and their altitude was a thousand feet. With his newest and dearest friend in a hysterical state next to him, and two men whose lives were in his hands on the controls, he would have to now perform a blind landing on a runway he had never seen before, with boiling seas of ice and death on both sides of the runway. Trimming the nose, he reached for the panel above and began to activate the lights on the aircraft. Once every last light including the cabin lights were on, he then lowered the landing gear, and began to drop the flaps. All the while, he began to softly mutter a prayer.

* * *

The unknown sergeant and his group of men had just entered the hangar of the 501st Joint Fighter Wing when the island was stricken by the beam. At first they only saw the bright flash, and shielded their eyes as it torched through the solid stone masonry and tarmac of the runway like a hot knife through butter. It swept across the edge of the taxiway with a flash, and the intense heat instantly burned away the fog which shrouded the area immediately before the runway. The wake of the beam left a gash with a width of nearly fifty feet which fell to a depth of one hundred. The fall was not a straight one however; the beam came at an angle, searing into the very foundation of the airbase and turning the various supports and masonry into a boiling cauldron of molten rock, now artificial magma. Seawater was already beginning to flow into the gash from the edges, and steam came in hot, billowing, violent torrents from the very depths of the gash. Standing on the edge of the runway, the very core of the chasm glowed an angry, fiery, deep red similar to the interior of a volcano. One could not stand for more than a moment at the precipice, but even they would be lucky to get close to the edge before burning alive in the seven feet of molten tarmac on either side of the point of severance.

As soon as the beam had ceased to exist, the hardened and experienced men all ran without hesitation toward the smoking hole. The sergeant brought up the rear, and ordered them to halt when the first man was three feet from the hot tar. The heat at that range was unbearably searing as the men inspected the damage. The smell of molten stone and tar was acrid in the air, and combined with the steam it had an effect on the men that was similar to the vapors of a car battery which had detonated on the very hottest of summer days. Within seconds they were all gagging, and quickly they began to backpedal away from the hellfire laid before them.

"C... Captain!" one of the men shouted between gagging and hacking. "What the hell just happened?"

The sergeant took a moment to roughly wipe the soot from his eyes. Their skin was blistering from the heat still, and the sergeant, now addressed as captain, was fearful of the consequences. Finally he replied, "That, my dear William, was a very large and very hot Neuroi beam. I'm afraid..." he stopped for a moment, entering a fit of wheezing and coughing and vomiting once, before continuing, "I'm afraid that... that... it was made solely for the purpose of eliminating this place! I've... I've never seen one... go so deep!" He went silent then, and clutched his gut as nausea swept over his senses. "Dear Lord, I shouldn't... we shouldn't have investigated!" he declared, staggering to a straighter stature. "Men! Assemble immediately, we must move with great haste!"

"Yes... yes sir!" they shouted wearily, grouping together. The Captain wiped a bit of spittle and vomit from the corner of his mouth, spitting the mix angrily onto the tarmac. "Gentlemen, before my arrival I did a bit of research!" he began. "In my research, at Ianna's insistence I decided to look through the old blueprints and tapestries which made any sort of depiction of this place. There are... cells, old monk's cells and even a prison of sorts..." he entered another fit of retching and coughing, before finally ending, "that are in the base of this... of this place! The military has converted it into prison space, and I'm afraid that that bastard... Maloney... put those girls down there. If it isn't already, that basement's turning into the fiery pits of hell... as we speak!" There was a moment of silence as the Captain stumbled forward, clearing his throat. Finally he continued, "I have your orders men. Half of you will come with me, and we'll head for Miss Minna's office! The other half... will venture down into the underside of this base to... to free the witches."

In response, the men silently separated into two even groups, with four men in each. The men stood at the ready, and waited expectantly for their orders. The Captain nodded with approval and thanks at the men he commanded. "Alright then chaps... the group on the right will be coming with me! The group on the left is going on the mercy mission!" All saluted, and shouted, "YES SAH, CAPTAIN SAH!"

The Captain gave the men a fierce gaze, and nodded. "RIGHT THEN! MOVE IT YOU LIMEY BASTARDS, MOVE IT! YOU HAD BETTER GODDAMN WELL HOOF IT LIKE THE ROYAL MARINES YOU ARE!" The order had the intended effect, and the men took off like their lives depended on it. Tears had begun to stream from the eyes of the man they addressed as Captain, as he too took off after the rest of the group.

* * *

Airspeed down to one hundred knots, flaps fully extended, and gear down, Cameron was nearing the edge of the runway now. He still had yet to see the structure's edge, but flew low and slow as he swept the fog for any differentiating shadows. He was only five-hundred feet up now, and was fearful that he had missed the runway when a shadow drifted in the corner of his vision.

"There you are!" he growled as though it heard him. He instantly dipped the wings, and shoved the rudder over. The shadow was in view now, and began to swell within his windshield. Suddenly the shape had definition; it was squared, sharp, and rectangular. It was diagonal, no, he was coming in at an angle! Immediately Cameron banked and used opposing rudder, bringing the nose to bare on the runway's length. By now, he could faintly see a red glow in the distance, and figuring it was runway lighting he trained his nose on it as a reference point. He was halfway down now, and slowly began to descend toward the runway.

"James, George!" he shouted over his shoulder, "I'm going to set her down! There's a strange glow at the end of the runway, I think it's runway lighting. Get ready for a bump!"

In short order, the men replied and stated they were ready for the landing. Hoping they would ready themselves, Cameron then turned to face, and hopefully attend to Lynne. She remained balled up in her seat, her eyes wide, her body trembling with fear. It seemed that she had finally snapped from the pressure, from the twists and turns of what had happened. "Lynne..." Cameron began, "we're going to land now. I'm... sorry." He turned to face her for a moment, and murmured, "Please... forgive me." He waited for a moment, until he noticed a flicker of movement when her dresden blue eyes suddenly darted in his direction. She stared at him sideways for a long time, rocking slightly, before turning away. The look, though assuring, frightened him.

"Jesus..." he thought with disbelief, "I... I hope to god she's alright."

Stomach knotted now, he brought his attention back to the landing. The tarmac was rushing up at the plane now, and he pulled back on the yoke. The altimeter needle halted, and he pulled the throttles back to idle to bleed off the rest of the airspeed. Finally, for the first time since the events which had unfolded at RAF Westhampnett... the wheels chirped as they came into contact with the runway. They had finally landed... since the time they'd been stranded in the woods, since they'd arrived at and departed from Westhampnett, since so many events had unfolded, and all the people had come together to help reach this goal... they had finally made it. Lynne and Perrine were finally home. Cameron applied the toe brakes, bringing the great aluminum beast to a stop, allowing the tail to drop on its own. He lifted a lever, and with a hiss the flaps reeled back flush with the trailing edges of the wings, and the belly of the plane. He turned to the still trembling girl in the copilot's seat, giving her a grateful smile.

"Oi..." he whispered to her. "I... I did it Lynne. I got you home, safe... and sound."

As he spoke, Cameron released his seat's harness, and set the parking brake. He then drew back the mixture levers until the fuel lines were cut, but left the avionics and electrical systems powered on. Lastly, he let loose a sigh of relief before quickly rising from his seat and stepping back into the rear of the cockpit. "Alright now, Lynne... he began, circling around to her seat. "Let's see what there is to see, shall we?" He stopped then, and leaned over her as he smiled. Lynne responded by shrinking into the seat, still strangely afraid. Cameron closed his eyes and looked away then, but not before extending a free hand to Lynette. He waited for what seemed to be an eternity, minutes ticking by, eyes still closed. "I have all evening Lynne..." he murmured. "You can trust me; we're on the ground now."

Another minute ticked by, and he continued to wait. In the black void of his vision, Taylor began to dread that the touch he yearned for would never come to fruition, that the hysterical girl would remain mad, and not snap out of it. He turned the possibility over in his mind, and was thinking of the consequences, when something came which broke him from his thoughts. Something cold brushed against his palm... but only briefly. It was cold, and soft... he waited, and it came again. A small smile began to tug at the corner of his mouth; the result of him knowing that she would pull out. Finally and shakily, the touch came again but with persistence. Her shaking hand settled gently into his palm, quaking all the same with the fear that still held within her heart. Cameron opened his eyes, and turned back to face Lynne. He was overjoyed to find her looking up at him now, an expectant look in her eyes as she waited for him to do as he chose. Gently and cautiously now, Cameron folded his fingers over, grasping her cold hand with the utmost care. Slowly coming to a firm grip, he then gently lifted Lynette from the copilot's seat, and helped her over the throttle quadrant.

"I'm..." he began hesitantly, "I'm... I couldn't be happier to see you are... alright." He stopped, and sighed with pain. "Thank you, oh thank you Lynne!"

Without hesitation, he embraced her trembling form. Lynne could only stand, mutely, as this person whom she had only known for a few days broke down in front of her, concerned for her sake and well-being. Her arms, though willing, hung limply at her sides as though lifeless and drained. Her body seemed to be cold all over, as though she'd been left in the cold snow for hours. Taylor continued to hold her regardless of the circumstances. He didn't care, so long as she was alright. Slowly, her arms began to quiver and come alive. They rose then, and slowly wrapped around Cameron's waist. The cockpit was nearly silent now, the engines and their props long since having spun to a stop. It seemed like the two were alone together, the only two on board the plane.

This, of course, was far from the truth. James now sat in the left hand aisle seat, and watched the whole scene with fascination. Like a thinking man he cupped his chin with his right hand, leaning on his arm rest as he watched the two in the cockpit. He felt it was unnecessary to bother them, because he had no reason to. Still, Ireland couldn't help but feel a hint of jealousy over the young man in the cockpit; most on the base at Westhampnett considered the armorer to be Lynette's second father... or mother, depending on how you looked at it. Ever since the young girl had shown up on their doorstep in the staff car, James had taken her under his wing from the start. Now, with a sad look in his eyes, he felt that his duty was finally coming to a close. He still knew very little of the man before him, comforting Lynne in the cockpit. Deep down though, he knew that things would turn out all right... for him, for her... and for everyone. Finally, Cameron and Lynne broke the embrace. Ireland was broken from his thoughts, and straightened in his seat as the two began to return to the passenger cabin. In the seat next to him, Cambridge declared, "If you don't get me off of this goddamned plane, and if I can't see for the rest of my life, by god Ireland I'm going to take your scrawny little head, fly to Karlsland, and feed you right into one of those goddamned turbojets they've been working on! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

James feigned a laugh, chuckling loudly. "Oh George, don't make me laugh. You'd have to catch me first, and I'd like to see that happen without you using a blind man's cane."

Cambridge roared with false anger, and Ireland bellowed with laughter. He finally reached for the clasp to his seatbelt, and decided to glance out through the cabin window for the first time in an hour. He was shocked by what he saw; in contrast to the well-lit interior of the cabin, the windows outside were black with a red haze along the bottom edges. He leaned across where his friend sat, pushing his face up against the glass with amazement. Within a few minutes, he could tell something was burning; there were cinders dancing over the glass, and something shifted outside the plane.

"Wait a minute..." Ireland murmured, focusing his gaze on the strange shape. "That thing... it's not on fire! It's... is that a..." he blurted, confusedly, "that's a man!"

Almost as though he had heard James then, the unknown person laying sprawled on the tarmac shifted again. They slid their arms close to their torso, bracing themselves as they rose up off the ground. The person moved slowly and stiffly, and the scene looked like the undead rising up off the floors of the depths of hell. With alarm, James flung his seatbelt away and jumped to his feet. "Oi, Cameron!" he shouted, "There's a man out there, lyin' on the tarmac! I can't believe there'd be anyone out there man!"

At that moment, he and Lynne were stepping through the passage to the main cabin together. Slowly, Taylor came near the window and crouched to take a look. He stared long and hard through the glass, searching without saying a word. He found nothing, and finally replied, "You know James... I think you're just paranoid. I saw nothing out there; have a look for yourself!" he said, gesturing to the window. James quickly pressed up against the pane again, and was immediately shocked.

"What in the... he was just there, I bloody seen 'im! He can't have gone far, that bloke looked like he'd been there for awhile!"

Lynne was standing silently behind Cameron, watching as the two men conversed over the sighting. She was still unnerved by the strange episode with the Neuroi, and the appearance of the creature as well as its actions still nagged at the back of her mind. Of more immediate concern should've been the way of dealing with the threat. Something was burning; that was something. She gazed through the windows, a dead expression on her face. As the men began to boil over into an argument, she focused her attention on the port wing. Suddenly, there was a shift on the forward edge that caught her eye. She pressed against the glass then, and saw something, something large, and something dark. She gasped as she realized what it was; it was a large man, laying prone on the wing as he reached for something. He shimmied forward, his arm waggling up and down as he reached for his intended goal. Lynne only stared, disbelieving of what she was seeing as the person finally grasped what they'd been reaching for. In the passageway in the separator behind the cockpit wall, there was a dull thump. Something opened, and a man could be heard, grunting as he squirmed up through the crew door of the C-47. She turned back to Cameron and James then, hoping that they would assure her of it's being an illusion.

It was George that caught the strange sound after Lynne. After hearing the sound, he immediately cleared his throat. The men stopped for a moment, and stared down at the blind pilot. He put an index finger up, and pointed toward the passageway.

"Ah, gentlemen... It seems that someone has done the impossible. Someone has gotten the eight feet off the ground, and opened the crew access door, if you haven't noticed."

The two men hesitated, silently fixing their stern gazes on the man who'd interrupted the argument. "Are you trying to mess with us, George?" Ireland asked wearily. "What, you must be joking."

Unknown to the two men, Lynne was turned with her back to them. By now, the man had just emerged from the passageway, and stood to his full height. His face was blackened, and sooty, and had the print of a combat boot on one cheek. He was grinning evilly at Lynne, and bared bright white teeth at her; it was a frightening against the backdrop of hell on earth that was his body. She watched him now, and realized his right hand was moving. Ever so silently, he eased it over the snap of something on his hip. Suddenly she realized what was happening.

The man was not a friend. He was going for a holstered weapon, and intended to do something terrible. The sensation, the fear, and everything building since the man's entrance into the cabin finally overwhelmed Lynette. She very nearly released the contents of her bladder; the common response when a person's fear is elevated to that sort of height. She turned, and sucked in a deep breath. The man lunged suddenly, a Webley revolver in hand, and with his left hand he grabbed a thick handful of her unbraided hair. He pressed the revolver against her head in the same instant, her terror-stricken nerves snapping as her heart leapt into her throat.

And finally, she screamed.

**Author's Note- Dark enough ending for you, folks?**


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note- I have nothing. Read and review please!

Through The Storm

Chapter 14-

One second Cameron had been hunched over the blind pilot, criticizing an assumed hallucination. In the next, he had whirled around to face the sudden commotion. What he saw was the last thing he expected, or wanted to see; a hulking man filled the passageway before him, the sooty fingers of his left hand holding Lynette by a thick fistful of her sandy-blond hair. The Sergeant screamed and kicked frantically, fighting to free herself from his ironlike grip... but to no avail. The man seemed to remain unmoved, and seemingly found a way to ignore the struggle he held single-handedly. This however, was only one of two things which concerned Taylor at that point, and the least concerning factor as well. Rather, what concerned Cameron was not the appearance of the man, or the way he had captured Lynne... it was the menacing revolver he held in his right hand.

And the muzzle was leveled directly at Cameron's chest.

The young man had never endured such an experience, and henceforth knew not how to react. As the seconds ticked by, an icy cold tingle seemed to envelope Taylor's body. Though he himself could not see it, he could feel the blood slowly creeping through his vessels and veins as his face turned ashen, and pallid. Next to him, James remained hunched over the blind pilot, as though he were either completely unfazed by the situation, or completely oblivious. Cameron wearily nudged the armorer with his toe.

"James?" he queried. "You... I think you should turn around."

He waited, his heart slowly creeping into the already heavy lump in his throat. The armorer failed to respond, and Cameron tried again.

"JAMES? I think you should see this!" He said, fear making itself more evident in his tone. "There appears to be a very angry man holding my dear sergeant Bishop in a very unyielding and disrespectful manner." He swallowed hard, before finishing in a quaking voice, "And he seems to have a very real and very deadly Webley Double-Action leveled at me!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Cameron noticed that James still hadn't moved. As he watched however, he noticed his right hand beginning to slither underneath the left breast of his jumpsuit. Softly, he muttered, "I know. Just keep calm, and carry on."

In the meantime, Lynne continued to fight the man's grasp. The sounds of her endless struggle seemed to be completely inaudible to the other three people now, despite her cries of grief and despair being quite real. "Let me go!" she shouted angrily. "Please, just let me go! What do you want with us?"

In response, the man lifted the struggling girl off the floor by her scalp. Unprepared for the sudden action, she screamed with pain as her feet lifted free of the floor. Desperately, she clawed for what few strands of her hair she could in an attempt to lessen the pain. The man then turned her to face him, and kept the revolver pointed at Taylor.

"Listen, young lady," he said, bringing her close. "You are a woman, not a man. You are also a child, not an adult. You are not to concern yourself over this matter, do you understand?"

Tears were streaming down Lynette's cheeks now, and unbearable waves of pain caused her head to throb uncontrollably. She did not respond to the man's question, and he shook her slighly. The pain intensified, and she screamed again. Cameron could only watch with horror, his face grey now, as Lynne was tortured by this unknown aggressor. He could feel his heart pounding like a jackhammer, and his hands and fingers trembled with fear.

On the other side, unseen by Cameron, James remained crouched as he had from the beginning. By now, he had withdrawn something from beneath his jumpsuit, and was slowly bringing this unknown thing around to his left side, reaching across his torso. As the discussion between the big man and Cameron carried onward, the armorer gently began to work this object under his left arm. "This is going to be a long shot." James thought to himself. "If I miss, forgive me."

"YES, I UNDERSTAND!" Lynne screamed. "PLEASE, JUST LET ME DOWN!"

The man shut his eyes, and nodded silently. "That's a good girl, cooperating as you should." He then lowered Lynne to the ground, and allowed her to relieve the pain in her scalp. She continued to sob uncontrollably, and covered her tear-streaked face with her hands. "Now, gentlemen..." he began slowly, "if it isn't obvious by now... there's another reason for my presence here, besides the required discipline of my subordinates." Cameron watched now, as the man smiled. "I'm hoping that we can make this little negotiation as civil and as cordial as possible, so as to avoid any... casualties."

Cameron watched now as the man's firing arm began to move. Slowly, the muzzle of the revolver began to swivel away from his chest, and a measure of relief came over him. This quickly dissipated however, when the gun chose a new target. Now, instead of being pointed at Taylor... it was pointed at the armorer.

"You wouldn't!" Cameron said with a gasp.

The man with the gun ignored him. "You," he said, gesturing to Ireland. "Turn around and face me. Now. We need to talk."

James remained still, and defiantly ignored the command. There was an audible click as the man pulled the hammer back on the Webley. Again, he motioned with the weapon, drawing a circle with the muzzle. "Turn... around... now. I'm giving you three seconds." After the man spoke, Cameron glanced at Ireland, thinking the man had gone insane. His heart sunk upon seeing the man's face.

Ireland was grinning.

The man began to count down now, and fixed his aim on James.

"Three."

Gently, the armorer worked something under his arm with his thumb. The sound of an engaging mechanism was muffled by the fabric of his jumpsuit.

"Two."

Ireland listened to the man's voice, adjusting appropriately. His hand shuffled under his arm, and he loosened his left arm slightly to free his aim. The final moment had come.

"One."

After the final word rolled from the man's lips, a brief moment came and went. His finger began to tighten on the trigger.

Suddenly, there was a thunderous gunshot. Cameron shuddered, and watched Lynette's captor, figuring that he had fired upon the armorer. His eyes, not fully accepting what had just happened, immediately shifted to James. The armorer was unscathed, and was grinning like a devious bastard. There was a loud thump then that broke the silence, and again Taylor's eyes swiveled back to the big man. Lynne was on the ground, crying, dragging herself hurriedly under a nearby seat. The hand that had so stubbornly gripped her hair, and hurt her so badly with its ironlike, viselike grip was a bloody and gorey mess.

The man howled with agony, and roared with anger. His other hand which held the revolver was still functioning, and so he brought his weapon to bear. James shifted the unseen gun under his arm, and fired another shot. The second went wild, ricocheting about the cabin. James had played his final card and failed, and now it was the other man's turn. His eyes ablaze he fired two quick shots at James, who remained covering Cambridge from the shots. Having nowhere to go, the two rounds plunged into the armorer's back, causing his whole body to shake from the impact.

Cameron finally snapped out of his trance, and his face quickly changed to show a mixed look of grief, concern, and anger. He roared, "GOD DAMNIT JAMES!" and immediately dove for cover after the two return shots. He went flat on the deck, and immediately pulled himself across the aisle to Lynne's side. The girl was huddled up behind the seats, in tears, hands over her ears. Fighting Neuroi from the air in combat was one situation. Shooting another human being in war was another thing entirely. More shots were heard ringing through the cabin, and shouting and confusion seemed to come in torrents through the aircraft. Behind him, Taylor heard a dull thud on the floor. In total from the two men, he'd heard six shots. Their revolvers were nearly empty.

"My God! Lynne, are you alright?" he shouted over the firefight.

"MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP!" she screamed pleadingly.

Quickly Cameron crawled up next to her, and wrapped his arms around her. "Shhhhhh... It's gonna' be okay!" He whispered as he stopped and held Lynne, who immediately buried her face into his shoulder and embraced back. Using the brief moment of cover to think, Taylor gave a brief glance over his shoulder. He was sickened by what he saw, finding that Ireland had fallen to the cabin floor. The man looked as though he were nearly dead, if not for the fact that his head still craned off the floor, and the revolver still pointed at the terrible man who was his adversary. He fired once more, and the big man grunted. Cameron shifted his gaze up then, and found the pilot, Cambridge. The man was bloodied, but nonetheless unscathed. He had pawed off his seatbelt now, and was furiously tearing his way to get to cover behind the seats. Suddenly, a brief pause interrupted the gunshots.

Cameron shouted, "Don't look Lynne, just keep down!" before another shot rang out.

This one came with another pause, and the big man could be heard stumbling. Taylor clamped his hand over the back of Lynne's head, and drew her body as close to his own as he could, all the while stuffing himself into a corner between a crate and the fuselage. Two more shots thundered from the Webley, then stopped with an audible "click, click, click." The man had run out of ammunition.

"FUCK!" he snarled, hurriedly stuffing the empty weapon under the lapel of his uniform. Shortly thereafter he could be heard, hurriedly making his way toward the exit with heavy footing. He returned the way he had come from, slithering out through the crew door on the port side of the aircraft. Reaching the drop, he simply threw himself out, trying to escape. His wounds were unknown, but it was obvious that he had fared much better than Ireland. Just as suddenly as he had appeared, and attacked them... he was gone, and had disappeared into the smoke.

Cameron remained seated in the corner... the minutes passing like hours. Wordlessly, he put his other arm around Lynette, and kept his other on the back of her head, trying to keep her calm by whatever means he knew. In the red tinted light, and the heavy silence which followed, he could feel and almost hear her heart pounding, the fear and adrenaline still coursing through her veins. He lowered his own head and rested his chin on her shoulder, his mouth drawn into a tight line, his expression grim. He regretted what he would have to do next... eventually, they would have to rise. It was already too much that he had to stare at the armorer's lifeless body, the gun still clutched in his hand... the blood seeping from his torn jumpsuit. He did not want Lynne to see it, he willed that she not turn around, that the whole thing could just not be there. Cameron was angry, and he was filled with sorrow. Just as he had only known the sergeant for a brief period, his relationship with James was even lesser. The effect on the poor girl would be devistating, and could be on par with losing one's father.

Behind Ireland, George was flattened out behind the seats. Taylor watched silently as he lay still for a few moments, before his arms began to stir. Though unable to see, the blind pilot glanced to his left and right, and pushed himself up as he eased himself up off the floor of the cabin.

"H-hey..." he said shakily, "are... are you guys alright?"

Cameron sucked in a breath of air, and replied, "Yeah..." with a short, rapid nod of the head, and a spiteful tone. "We're alive, he's gone."

George nodded back, though he could not see the two of them. Cameron continued to sit, and stare with mute shock at Ireland's body. He didn't know if the man was dead, but he certainly appeared to be. On his chest now, Taylor felt movement. He felt Lynne pushing away, trying to rise, to look. There was a rustle as her head turned, and she tried to look over her shoulder. In response, Cameron tightened his hold.

"Cameron... please..." she muttered, "let me see."

He shook his head sadly. "No. You don't wanna' do that Lynne." Again, she fought to turn, to free herself. "Please!" she pleaded, "Is James alright?"

The emotional weight was beginning to wear on Taylor. He held the sergeant even tighter than he had before, and tried to turn her away. Lynette began to fight his grip with desperation and determination. Cameron didn't want to hurt the poor girl, but he also knew that there were certain things which couldn't be avoided. Allowing her to discover the demise of her closest friend was most certainly that which he dreaded most. Still, despite the consequences... he fought on.

"Let me see him, let me see him!" She wailed. "James, speak to me, please speak to me!"

Her desperate cries tore at his heart. Cameron held on doggedly, and a hot tear began to roll down his cheek. Things were only getting worse and worse for the two of them... but he had to show her, he had to let her see James. Lynne began to strike Taylor now, hoping that he would set her free. Despite her efforts, he held fast.

"Lynne, please..." Taylor said with tears in his eyes. "Please stop, I'm begging you."

"JAMES!" she shouted, beating on her captor's chest. "Let go of me, you bastard!"

Deep in his heart, Cameron knew that Lynne was expecting the worst. She did not want to accept the truth, nor did he himself want to either. The sergeant was in tears now, and the entire breast and lapels of Cameron's Tech Sergeant Uniform were dampened all the way through. She wailed and and wept, and still fought Taylor's grasp. Cameron loosened his grip a little, and buried his face against her shoulder, closing his eyes.

* * *

The Neuroi was nearly on top of the base now, and everyone could sense it, witch or not. Clostermann's heart thundered in her chest as she flew on now, and a buildup of static began to charge within her, her powers subconsciously building a defense. The fog surrounding the Spitfire was thinning now, and was becoming patchier as time wore on. Gradually, more and more of the warzone was revealing itself to her searching eyes. In the base, both Major and Commander were on edge as they camped out by the radio. By now, a cold front was beginning to push its way from the northern part of the world, slowly flowing toward the Dover Strait and the eastern British coastline. This pushed the cloud level high, and thinned the massive buildup below as well as blowing away any of the damp, cold fog which shrouded the runway. The alien craft was visible now to most, the view becoming clearer as the moments passed, and was just within range of the very biggest guns readied on the eastern shore. The artillery was quickly activated, and the metal beasts began to come alive. At the very furthest peninsula, where a large artillery and a number of howitzer guns were placed, the men shouted degree variants and fire control orders. Moments later the gun roared with a deep thunder, and the first shot of the standoff was fired.

As the artilleryman said in War of the Worlds, it was to indeed be "bows and arrows against the lightning."

At the time the shot was fired, Perrine was making another circuit around the base. Her position was under a mile offshore to the northeast, traveling in a clockwise direction around the base. It had been nearly an hour since their arrival, and the conflict of duties, emotions, and feelings had taken their toll on her. During the time of uncertainty, Perrine was busying herself with reconnaisance duties and making periodic reports to her superiors, the Major and the Commander, who were still in the Commander's Quarters. Her body felt tired, and dead, but also ready, and on the defensive. Clostermann was weary and cautious, but also very afraid, and fearful as to what had become of her friends. She had heard nothing from them for quite some time now, but deep down she knew to trust in their survival. Perrine felt sure that she could trust in Cameron, and be sure that he would keep Lynne safe. She understood that she felt the same trust in him as he did in her, for he allowed her to fly his most prized possession didn't he?

The constant rumble of the V-12 Merlin had dulled her senses now, and all Perrine felt she could rely on was her eyes. They swept the horizon and the nearby landmass with the scrutiny of a hawk looking for prey, and lingered momentarily on anything that appeared to be out of the ordinary. She remained at altitude for a brief moment, then pushed the nose down and drew the throttles back in rapid descent. Her eyes continued to search as she dove toward the peninsula where the gun emplacement was. It was at this time the guns began to fire their volley, and immediately she began to report back to Minna and Mio.

"Major, this is Perrine. Can you hear me?"

Sakamoto replied a brief moment later. "Yes, we hear you. You have another report?"

The Gallian nodded her head sadly. "Yes, and it's some very bad news Major. The gun emplacement on the northeastern peninsula, they've opened up. The Neuroi is nearly upon our doorstep, and unless we wish to relinquish the whole of Britannia to them we must do something soon if not now!" Perrine could feel the tone in her voice becoming slightly frantic, and instinctively she glanced to her left. The alien craft filled a vast portion of her canopy on the port side of the aircraft, and was becoming larger and larger as time wore on. "Isn't there anything we can do?" she pleaded with desperation.

On the other end of the channel, both Minna and Mio could feel the weight of the situation coming down on their shoulders. Both women knew that they would not be held responsible for the failures, but understood that if the conflict was not resolved, their careers and their lives would be a shambles. Dazedly, Sakamoto could only stare at the radio, her eyes becoming dim. Nearby, the Commander had her face pressed against the window, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on. Sadly, there was still too much haze for either of them to see anything. They could still only rely on the reports from Perrine, who was their only lifeline.

Mio shut her eyes, and sighed with defeat. "I... don't think there is anything we can do, Perrine. Unless you have your Striker Units and armaments, and unless Commander Minna and I could make our own way down to the hangar and prepare for combat, you're all alone out there." The Major paused then, and rubbed her temples in thought. "I know this is a... sensitive matter..." she said slowly, "but... have you heard anything from Lynette or Cameron?"

The question made the Gallian uneasy, and forced a tear to creep down her cheek. Her heart grew heavy at the thought of what may have happened to the two of them, but after a moment of silence, she pushed the thought out of her mind. "I... ah... I'm sorry Major. I have heard nothing."

Sakamoto could hear the sorrow in her friend's voice. "I understand. If you could find them... they may be our only remaining hope."

Clostermann nodded. "I know."

At this point, Mio felt like crying. The weight of the few days' events were coming down like a ton of bricks, and affected her greatly. She knew that all of her collective experience did nothing in situations like this, and it was at these times that she felt as helpless as a mere child. She had seen others die, had seen other people in her position go through similar experiences... and none of these moments had any appeal to her feelings or senses. She herself had never been through such experiences, but deep down the Major knew that one day this day would come, and she could do nothing to stop it. It was fate, and in her own words, Sakamoto would readily admit that "fate was a bitch." With disappointment and a sense of failure, she drew the headset from her head without signing off, and laid it gently on the radio set. She became still for a moment, her fingers still wrapped around the top of the headset, her head hanging low as she hunched over. It was about a minute that passed then, before finally she drew her hand away. A tear then began to form in the corner of her eye, and the teardrop swelled until it became as heavy as her feelings of guilt, and failure.

At this point, she began to weep. She covered her face with her hands, and let the teardrops fall.

* * *

The Squad Captain of the Special Royal Marine contingient had never been angrier in his life. Shortly after sending half of his men to the lower catacombs of the Dover Base, he took the remaining half of his forces and began to make his way to his assumed target, the Commanding Officer's Quarters. So far he had made his way up through three floors, and was surprised to find soldiers from Maloney's contingient still lingering in the halls and in the odd rooms they had to pass through. Most of the men ignored the group's passing, but did raise an eyebrow at the aggressive stance the mysterious group held, rifles drawn and ready to fire. At least three times now, the group had been stopped by another group of soldiers, and luckily the Captain had been able to talk his way past them. Things would get much more difficult once he reached the Commander and the Major, but he would figure that situation out once he reached his destination.

He had made it to the fourth floor when there was a distant thunder. He ordered his men to halt, and one of them stopped, and approached a nearby window. He hastily clawed open the latch, and threw the window open to listen. Moments later, he turned back with news of what the sound was.

"Captain Sah, the artilleries on the northeastern peninsula are opening up. We haven't much time."

The Captain stared hard at the man. "You're kidding."

"No Sah, they just opened up a volley, and other artilleries are coming online. We may get hit again."

The Captain pushed aside a couple of the men standing in his way, and advanced toward the window to listen for himself. He stuck his head out the window and listened carefully. Sure enough, the distant rumble of anti-aircraft guns and howitzers filled his ears, and faintly came the smell of burnt cordite, which was the type of charge the Britannian military used for munitions. He pulled his head back in shortly thereafter, and slammed the window closed. The panes nearly shattered in their mounts.

"God damnit!" he shouted, "if Maloney were here right now, I'd plant my boot so far up his arse that he'd pray to God that I'd wring his neck! That stupid bastard!"

The Captain was seething with rage, and a couple of his more experienced men backed away. "Which one of you has the floors memorized. I want you here in front of me, now."

Quickly, one of the men stepped forward. The Captain fixed his gaze on the man, who cowered slightly but forced himself to stand his ground. Looking over the man, the Captain nodded moments later, and addressed him. "How many more floors do we have to go? We have no more time."

"I... ah..." he stammered, searching his memory, "we have one more flight of stairs to go, and then we travel through a main room and enter a side hallway. That's the usual access though... there is a quicker way."

"Let's hear it!" the Captain barked.

"Yes Sah," the navigator replied. "The other way to reach the Commander's office is to take a route directly through the command center of the base. After that, we just head up a side stairway and enter the same hallway. It's the way the Commander would use to quickly reach the Command Center in a time of combat, much like our current situation."

The Captain nodded. "Well then, we need not think about it. We'll keep you covered, and you take us through the command center."

"So you understand the risk then, Sah?"

"I do indeed. I'm sure that the majority of Maloney's major support is holed up in the command center, and I don't doubt for a second that they would open up on us and put us out of commission. Our lives are not as important as the security and salvation of Her Majesty's domain."

The man nodded somberly. "I understand Sah. I'll get to it immediately."

The Captain nodded, and turned toward the rest of the men, who waited readily for their orders. "All of you! Follow this man, and keep him covered. He is our only way of navigating through the base quickly and efficiently, so don't any of you dare to hesitate putting your lives on the line for his safety. We will be making our way directly through the base's Command Center, and we will most certainly come under heavy fire. I'm sure all of you are ready to face the obstacles which have now presented themselves to us."

The men saluted casually. "Sah! Yes Sah!"

The Captain smiled, and then turned to the navigator. Well lad... lead the way. We've got no time to lose.

The man nodded vigorously and said, "Yes sir," before turning away and running down the hallway. Moments later, the rest of the squad barreled after him as he ran for the stairway at the end of the passage. Rifles were leveled ahead, and the rest of the men clamped their helmets on their heads with a free hand. Their faces were hard, and their lips drawn taut. They were determined, and serious about their goals. It seemed that nothing could stand in their way now, and it was only a matter of time before the first firefight began.

The Captain grimaced, and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Wish us luck, Ms. Ianna."


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note- Sorry about the wait! Please enjoy this one as well! I would dearly enjoy seeing more comments from the readers, even the people who have already commented. It makes me happy to read what your opinions and comments are.**

Through The Storm

Chapter 15-

Once the Major had begun to cry, she could do nothing to hold her emotions back. It was so sudden, so awful and emotion-laden, that it actually startled Minna once her ears caught the sound. In the minutes following the last contact with Perrine, Minna and Mio were now huddled together and sitting against a wall opposite the large window near the radio set. The sobbing Major was held by the firm, caring arms of her Commander. She knew her not by rank now, or by her wisdom or seniority... she was older than the eighteen-year-old. She knew her now as a very close, and very loving friend... almost exactly as a sister. The two of them were silent now as they sat against the wall. Minna bore no expression, and seemed to be almost completely withdrawn or detached from the situation. The Major felt a pain unlike any other in her chest, and continued to heave and sob in her friend's arms. It seemed as though the two girls had nothing left now. All there was to do was to wait.

From the nearby radio set, neither of the girls heard anything more from the Gallian. A few minutes came and went, and Minna could only close her eyes as Mio clutched at her lapels. In an attempt to calm the Major, the Commander began to stroke the back of Sakamoto's head. The action had a negligible effect, but helped nonetheless. It was as though Minna were born to be a mother, or a sister. It was this very reason which she had gained highest rank, a commanding rank, and was under orders to command the girls of the 501st. Unlike the skills of the Major, the Commander's still had limited potential. It was now that she used them as she saw fit, and it was now that her abilities were needed the most.

"Shh..." she whispered, "It'll be alright. We'll find a way out of this."

Sakamoto did not reply, and carried on as she had been. The distant sound of the artilleries had begun to filter through the walls, and the deep thunder of the very largest of the guns could be felt through the floor. It reminded Minna of a terrified and erratic heartbeat, the pounding heart of a creature being torn to shreds by a very large and terrifying predator. Fear had long since departed from the girls' minds, and was now only replaced by a feeling of dread. More moments passed, and the girls closed their eyes, listening to what they assumed to be the last beating sounds of their base, and the people of Britannia who defended it tooth and nail, and toe to toe. She listened carefully, taking every sound to heart...

The distant thunder of the artilleries, the great metal beasts pounding away at the threat skyward...

The very faint, but distinct shout of the soldiers as they fought desperately to hold their ground, firing angrily at the Neuroi, and screaming to "FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!"

The faint hum of the Spitfire which circled helplessly, the Gallian within helpless, and unable to do anything at all...

But then a different sound joined the symphony. It was a stutter, or a staccato rattle of sorts. It was the sound of weaponry, not faint like the rifles or artilleries, but closer, and louder. Shouts could be heard much closer to the two women, and it was nearby... or rather, below them.

Something was changing, Minna could sense it. Aggravated shouts echoed from the nearest room, filtering into the hallway which led to the Commanding Officer's Quarters. Gunfire interrupted the voices, and people could be heard running and fighting. The Commander opened her eyes, and looked to the door.

"Mio!" she gasped, "Mio, get up! A gunfight's started in the command center!" Sakamoto's head rose from Minna's chest. "Can't you hear it Mio? Someone's started firing downstairs!"

* * *

What the girls were hearing was the opening of a surprisingly brief gun battle of the utmost intensity, and ferocity, the likes of which neither had ever seen. The mysterious Squad Captain and his Royal Marines had just begun their assault on the Command Center, and were desperately fighting their way toward the side entrance which the team's navigator claimed would lead to the Commander's quarters.

All the eyes of Maloney's underlings were drawn to the large windows which overlooked the surrounding ocean. The mammoth Neuroi filled the view now, and many things which had remained unseen previously were now revealed to the various technicians and military men scattered about the room. They paid scant attention to the now visible freight aircraft sitting on the severed runway, or the various gun emplacements which now fired with reckless abandon. Nor did they give any attention to the Spitfire which seemed to be drawing nearer to the freighter. They were all collectively oblivious to what was happening around them, and could not help but watch as their demise came near.

The Captain's squad poured through the doorway through which Trevor Maloney had left hours earlier. It took the opposition a moment to hear the sounds of their advance, and for their minds to register what was going on behind them. Using this moment to his advantage, the Captain ushered the men to a nearby set of displays and consoles nearest the stairs access. The men sprinted and dove for the cramped space behind. It was at least two seconds before the first shot rang out from Maloney's men, and soon the lead was whizzing above the soldiers' heads like an angry swarm of bees. The squad went prone, and slithered out and around the corners of the paneling. Unlike the untrained military technicians and tacticians, the Royal Marines' aim was well trained, disciplined, and much more deadly. They leveled their weapons as well, and fired mercilessly at their aggressors. Maloney's men were cut down rapidly, but some of the Captain's group still took hits.

"Give them everything you've got lads!" he bellowed. "Don't leave a single one of those bastards standing!"

The order went unacknowledged, but was accepted all the same. One man, one of the few actual Britannian army guards stationed about the room, zeroed in on the marines with his sidearm, a Colt M1911 acquired through lend-lease and various programs. The shot happened to be a fluke, and pierced through a weak spot in the back of the consoles which were providing cover for the men. The shot ripped through the metal and electronics, and tore through the other side into one of the marines. He died silently, the bullet piercing his head, his body falling limp almost instantly.

As the rest of the men continued to kill off the remaining holdouts, the Captain peaked around the corner, taking care to avoid being seen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of Maloney's technicians sprinting toward their left flank. The Captain turned quickly drawing his sidearm instinctively, training it on the incoming threat. He watched the man, and then hesitated, seeing something different. The man had his hands over his head, and was waving a sheet of paper over his head as well. His lips were moving, but his voice was unheard over the gunfire. Below, the Captain caught the shuffle of his support. The man took aim.

"No, don't!" the Captain barked, slamming the Marine's rifle into the ground. "It's a white flag. He's one of ours!"

The Captain watched as the man drew closer. His hands glided down his side, and the Captain watched as he drew a revolver from his trouser pocket. The muzzle turned away from the Marines, and the techie fired off a few snap shots before tumbling into the pile of Royal Marines which bristled with guns. He was lucky, and appeared to have a purpose for his arrival. Sliding back against a nearby wall, he took a few seconds to catch his breath before addressing the Captain of the squad.

"Jesus Christ!" he sputtered breathlessly. "Thanks for not firing! I'm not one of those blokes out there, I'm much better than that."

The Captain eyed him suspiciously. "Indeed," he growled. "Who are you, and why did you come here?"

"I'm an agent under Naval Intelligence!" he replied quickly. "Ms. Ianna pulled some strings and worked me into the remains of Maloney's operatives to gather information, essentially being a mole. She said that I would be extracted at some point, but she didn't quite specify when that would happen."

The Captain was satisfied by the story, and nodded. "Understandable. We aren't here for you, I'm sorry to say, but I'm sure you realize the true reason as to why we are here now."

The man nodded. "Yes, it's because of that thing in'nit?" he said as he gave a nod toward the Neuroi distant from them.

"Is it really that obvious?" the Captain replied sarcastically.

The gunfire had begun to die down now, and the Marines were becoming much more comfortable about revealing themselves. Some even rose from their prone position, and thumped down on the top of the consoles to steady their aim. The startled shouts of a few technicians echoed from the doorway through which the Captain and his squad had entered. Some escaped, but a vast many had remained, and been killed. It was seconds later that the gunfire ceased completely.

The Captain, hearing no more resistance, called a ceasefire. He waited for a moment, listening for any survivors. There appeared to be none, and so he began to rise cautiously from behind the console. The sight which greeted him was shocking; the large windows which overlooked the ocean had many of their panes shattered. Dozens of bodies littered the floor, all of them Britannian men. As the sight remained in his vision and seconds passed, a lump began to form in the bottom of his throat. The Captain would later speak privately with his superior about the atrocity, and would not feel the brunt of killing his own countrymen until much, much later. His focus was elsewhere for the time being.

The leader turned away from the gruesome scene, and faced the group which he commanded. The men were found to be bloodied and haggard in appearance, all of them looking like they'd crawled from a warzone. The Captain had originally led a group of seven men into the base itself. After this brief gunfight, only six remained, all wounded in some manner.

"Men, give me a report."

"Sah!" one of them snapped, saluting. "Ah... we lost Robinson over there... a Colt round got him through the console," he said, gesturing to the fallen man. "After the fight, we're left with five able-bodied men, Sah. Mitchell took a hit in his leg, and he's lame. He cannot put weight on it."

"And our navigator?" the Captain queried.

"Still alive. He took a nick on the arm, but he's still in one piece!" the Marine said as he nodded over his shoulder. "Nasty little bastard too, he dropped a man tryin' to put a hole in me. Got 'im right between the eyes, crack shot that was!"

The results were, to the Captain's surprise, much more satisfying than he had hoped. He had only lost one man, and the rest were still capable of combat despite one man being lame. He lingered on the thought of the accomplishment for only a moment, but then returned to the situation at hand. "Alright... we can't focus on this right now, we must get to the Commander's office!" he said, pointing at the nearby door. "Quickly, leave the lame man behind and the rest of you follow me. Ianna informed me that it is our duty to put the witches into combat as soon as possible. We must secure all weapons and equipment they deem to be necessary to their efforts. Go, go, go!"

Without another word, the remaining Marines turned for the exit. No one man looked over his shoulder as he left behind a sea of bodies, all of their own countrymen. The door was shoved open, and combat boots pounded heavily as the men climbed up steps hewn of stone. Reaching the landing at the top, they drew rapidly closer to the end of the long and arduous advance through the base.

The door was kicked open, the men disregarding the latch or handle altogether. The Captain, leading the team as he always had been, stepped calmly out into the hallway. A long, dark red carpet stretched out beyond in a seemingly endless red ribbon. It ended at a single large oak door, which to the men appeared like the light at the end of a tunnel, or the tape at the end of a finish line. The Captain smiled, and began to stroll down the hall to the door at the end. There was a plaque mounted in the center of the door, made of brass with a black paint on it's surface, the raised lettering gleaming in the light.

The plaque read:

QUARTERS OF THE COMMANDING OFFICER

MINNA DIETLINDE-WILCKE, KARLSLAND

COMMANDING OFFICER, 501ST JOINT FIGHTER WING

* * *

Minna and Mio could only sit and stare at the door, mute with shock. Both had clearly overheard the firefight in the command center, as well as shouting and a pounding of combat boots. Sakamoto was still in tears, but her attention was now focused on the door, with furniture still piled against it. Both women had flinched upon hearing the sound of the oak door at the far end of the hallway being kicked in by the Royal Marines.

"What in hell is going on now?" Minna muttered in a low tone. "Do you think we've been found out?"

Sakamoto drew the cuff of her uniform across her eyes, wiping her tears away. "I don't know what to think anymore. It certainly doesn't sound like any of Maloney's men."

The thunder of boots receded into a low drumming of footsteps. The girls could hear the men coming down the hallway, coming nearer and nearer to the door to the Commander's office. A feeling of apprehension slowly began to build within the girls, and subconsciously their bodies began to edge away from the door. The footsteps grew in volume, getting louder and louder until all ceased at the threshold. There was a long pause then, and the Major and the Commander stared confusedly at each other. After the pause, there was a polite knock on the door.

Minna glanced sideways at the Major. "What do we do?" she whispered.

Sakatmoto stared at the door with damp eyes. "I don't know..." she whispered back. "Something tells me that... something seems different. They... I think..."

Mio couldn't find a way to finish her statements, no matter how hard she fought with her intuition. While the men knocking on the door sounded noticeably different from the rest of the soldiers the former Air Marshal commanded, the series of events leading to this moment had worn away her trust. Beaten, lied to, and subdued, the Major refused to allow herself to make any further decisions about the situation. Her burden of guilt had built to a point at which she could no longer trust herself. She did not voice this, or think of this fact directly... but deep down, she understood why she could not agree with herself. As she collected her thoughts, there was another patient knock at the door. Minna shifted her gaze to the doorway once again.

"It... it is my belief... that we can trust these people. I think we can!" she muttered anxiously. "I'm going to answer them... they... I can sense that these are not ordinary men. They can't be Maloney's soldiers."

Sakamoto looked over at Minna. In turn, the Karlslander smiled kindly back at her friend. Something in that fleeting moment, something deep within Mio's heart changed. It was then, finally, that she chose to make a decision. Mio nodded in agreement.

"Do it."

Without another word, both women rose from the floor. Whilst Sakamoto disregarded her disheveled appearance, Minna took a moment to brush off and smooth out her own uniform. She then took a deep breath, and cleared her throat.

"Yes?" she replied, finally. "Who is there?"

On the other side of the doorway, a knocking of heels could be heard as the unknown soldiers saluted, unseen by either the Major or the Commander. "Miss Commander! I regret to inform you that I cannot divulge to you my identity. I can say, however, that I am a Squad Captain of the Royal Marines. As of now, my men are at your service, and are awaiting your orders, Ma'am!"

The Karlslander swallowed, her heart skipping a beat as well. Why would an unnamed squad of Royal Marines be here? Did Maloney have larger, more secretive resources? Was it but a simple trap, and was it only a group of smart-talking soldiers from Maloney's group? She felt a strong urge to discover more.

"How many men are with you? Please, tell the truth if I am to believe you are who you claim to be."

The man nodded on the other side. "Yes, Ma'am. There are currently six of us present, Commander. We had a bit of a situation on the way here, and I originally started with seven men, Ma'am. One was killed in combat, and one was made lame by gunshot wound. That leaves me with five Marines, and one man who is an intelligence operative. He was a mole under Maloney's command."

Minna sighed, and put a hand on the side of the door. "Alright sir, I believe your statements. I... believe that I can trust you... what are your orders?"

"Ma'am!" the captain replied readily. "I am under orders to collect you, as well as any other witches I can gather within the base. Following that, I am to escort you to the hangar, and put you into your combat duties as quickly as possible. We are under a complete obligation to follow your orders, and to gather any sort of equipment, weapons, or materials you deem necessary to your combat, Ma'am. Afterward if we are successful, we are to reclaim the base and it's resources."

Minna nodded to herself, and was convinced. "Alright... I believe you. If you'll give us a moment, Major Sakamoto and I will clear the furniture from the door. We barricaded ourselves in my quarters."

"Yes, Ma'am!"

Immediately, both Major and Commander set to work clearing the door of the barricade. They moved now with little care, and threw the lightest pieces of furniture away from the pile. Things were broken, paint was chipped, wood finish was scratched. They spilled potting soil, and broke glass as they wore down to the centermost heaviest item, Minna's oak desk. Soon this too was moved from the door, and with much effort the girls pushed it against the wall it once was turned to face away from. The door could now swing freely, and admit the assumed Royal Marines. At this point, the Commander then turned to the Major, gesturing toward the door.

"Mio... I... you're better skilled to defend. May I have you do the honors?"

Sakamoto closed her eyes, and nodded once. "Yes, Commander."

* * *

On the other side of the door, the Captain turned to address his men. "All of you, at ease. Rifles are to be slung over your backs, and any handguns are to be holstered. Do not appear to be a threat once you are seen. We must move the moment we are allowed entry."

The men said nothing, and saluted once before doing as they were told. Even the operative they had added to the team in the command center pocketed his revolver, but made sure the handgrip remained visible as to not conceal the weapon. It was to be a peaceful confrontation. Behind the Captain, the sound of locks disengaging could be heard, and he quickly turned to face the first person to appear in the doorway. His eyes zeroed in on the handle, a dazzling piece made of ornately cut crystal. His eyes remained focused on the knob, and his brows rose an increment when it began to turn slowly, and hesitantly. Soon, the knob was still, and the door swung open slowly.

"This is it!" he thought, straightening up. He then brought his hand up in a stiff salute.

The door opened, and the women on the other side were revealed to the Marines. The Captain's eyes widened, as did the eyes of the first person to face him when the two of them were face to face. His eyes fell almost immediately to a slightly wrinkled, albeit crisp white uniform with no skirt or slacks. His eyes swept upward, and found black and gold epaulettes, and shining raven black hair drawn into a pony tail. The various decorations on the upper half of the uniform revealed the wearer to be ranked as a Major in the Imperial Japanese Navy. In return, the Major took a moment to size up the Captain, and ensure that the man was who he said he was. Her own tired eyes found nothing of what she expected, only smudged and dirtied jumpsuits and a bunch of Britannian Army Infantrymen. The look on Sakamoto's face was of shock, and the Captain's was of amusement.

"We just need to stop meeting like this, Major!" he said grinning. "Sorry about our appearance, but we couldn't just run in looking like Marines. Fourteen Marines to hundreds of our own Army Men just wouldn't do."

Mio wore an expression of complete disbelief. "You! You're the... you're that guard!" said with a gasp. Her heart leapt, and for some reason her cheeks turned crimson. With embarrassment, she covered her mouth with one hand and looked away. "I... I can't believe that you of all people... you're... you're a Marine?"

"One in the same!" the man said with a chuckle.

Sakamoto glanced over her shoulder. Minna stood close behind her, head cocked at a slight angle as she observed the reactions of the Captain and her friend.

"You know this man, Mio?" she asked with surprise.

Mio turned and nodded. "Ah... yes I do, but only for a brief moment in time... I just spoke to him after our confrontation with the Air Marshal before his departure." She stopped then, and turned back to the Squad Captain. "Ah, please come in and sit for a moment... I must check in with one of our witches."

"There's one engaged?" He asked with surprise. He then entered the room, and sat down on the edge of the Commander's desk. The rest of the men he commanded followed after him, and took various positions against the surrounding walls. All then stood at ease silently, listening to the witches.

Minna shook her head with despair. "Sadly, this is not the case. Supposedly she's circling in a Britannian fighter and reporting on what she's seeing. She as well as a Sergeant, Lynette Bishop, disappeared a few days ago. This is the first we've heard back from them today."

The Captain's eyes lit up. "That explains it!" he said with a snap of his fingers. "That explains that aircraft that just about took the officer's head off! That blasted thing came at us like a Stuka bomber. If my memory is correct, I think it was a Spitfire!"

At that moment, a tinny and excited voice could be heard emanating from the radio set, at this point almost completely forgotten. Both the Major and the Commander stared at each other, before lunging for the headset. The Captain watched them quizzically.

"She sounds like she's found something!"

The girls shushed the man, and began broadcasting. "Yes Perrine, we're here! Go ahead!"

On the other end of the frequency, Perrine was audibly stressed. She could be heard gasping for air, and was quite obviously excited by something. The girls stared at the radio set with apprehension, both trying to anticipate what she was about to say in their minds. Eventually, the Gallian was able to catch her breath.

"I... you... Major Sakamoto, Commander Minna, I... you're not going to believe what I've just seen!"

"We're willing to believe anything right now, go ahead!" Sakamoto said with a demanding tone.

Perrine replied with an emotion-laden sigh. "I... I've found them! I've found the plane, they've made it! The freighter that was carrying Lynne and Cameron is intact and parked on the runway! I repeat, they're okay!"

Mio's eyes lit up with joy. "I can't believe it! You've found them?"

"Yes!" Perrine replied, still breathless. "It's a surprise they're still on the runway too! The Neuroi beam which fired off earlier has severed... it's severed off the runway from the rest of the base!"

As the trio conversed over the radio, the Captain waited patiently. The radio conversation intensified, facts were exchanged, requests were made, and descriptions were given. Every so often, Commander Minna would glance over her shoulder at the Captain, making sure that the man was still awaiting their orders. He smiled and gave a casual wave, and in turn the Commander returned her attention to Sakamoto and Clostermann. They were nearing the end of the broadcast.

"Can you confirm their presence aboard the aircraft?" Mio pressed anxiously. "I must know!"

Perrine took a moment to answer. "I'm... I'm not sure," she replied hesitantly. "I plan on landing and making firsthand contact. We have been out of radio communication for awhile now."

Sakamoto nodded slowly. "I understand, Perrine. A note of warning to you now, are you listening?"

"Yes Major!" she replied with a snap. "I'm all ears."

Sakamoto smiled. "We have a... bit of a situation here, Clostermann. A squad of Royal Marines has arrived in the Commander's Quarters, and they've been tasked with our escort. Can you think of any materials or weapons you may need? We'll make contact with you in about fifteen minutes, give or take a few if we hurry."

Perrine was silent a moment, surprised at what she had heard. She began to recall what resources had been lost, and quickly listed them as soon as she remembered the items. "I'm not exactly sure what we need," she began, "but I think I know what Mister Taylor would request. We cannot get a pair of replacement Strikers at the moment, but we need a full combat load of ammunition for my Bren, one Boys Anti-Tank Rifle with double the amount of ammunition taken into the field, and a light assault weapon for Mister Taylor himself, need he be involved. I'm absolutely sure that we need these things."

Sakamoto mumbled the items to herself, and scribbled them down on a sheet of paper. "Done and done! This is our last broadcast, so you're on your own until we reach you. Good luck with your rendezvous, Perrine."

The Gallian nodded to herself assuringly, and replied, "Thank you Mio. Before I sign off, I want to tell you that I love you both greatly as friends and comrades, and that I wish you both as well much luck in the operation."

The words brought a smile to the Major's face. "Thank you... thank you so much, Perrine."

With the final broadcast finished, the Major and the Commander powered down the equipment, and stowed it away. Once finished, both women rose to their feet, and turned to face the Royal Marines waiting patiently behind them.

"Alright Gentlemen," Minna stated with a dark expression. "Let's get going."

* * *

An intense feeling of joy and happiness coursed through Perrine's mind and body. Compared to her earlier state of sadness and melancholy, she had now regained a sense of determination, triumph, and a will to win the fight ahead. After her final broadcast with her superiors, she now focused on landing the fighter on the remains of the runway, and making contact with her friends. She was also excited and anxious to see Cameron again, and not once did she refuse to accept the fact. After all Taylor had done for her, she knew that deep down, she harbored feelings for the man. She accepted it readily and happily, but did not allow he himself nor the Sergeant to know. In her mind, Perrine told herself that there would be a time and a place for it, but that time would reveal itself in the future. For now, she would have to settle for his simply being alive.

When the Gallian had discovered the freighter, she nearly had collided with the aircraft on the tarmac. She was completing a low pass of the gun emplacements, and plunged into a fog bank which was slowly beginning to dissipate. Her watchful gaze had caught the outline of the fuselage in the smoke and fog, and she yanked back on the control stick, missing the top of the fuselage by mere inches. The propeller made no contact, miraculously, and she made a rapid climb whilst banking away. With a tight turn came another pass over the aircraft, and with disbelief and an undefinable joy and happiness, she confirmed what she was hoping to believe.

Now she had to land on the same runway, and hope that things had turned out for the best.

With a deft hand, she banked eastward and crossed over the runway heading slightly north. Once more, the menacing image of the Neuroi filled her canopy, but she simply stared the image down and swallowed her fear. Just after passing the end of the runway, she drew the throttles of the fighter clear back, and lowered the landing gear. There was immediate drag as the aircraft slowed to one-hundred sixty knots.

"I'll be with you soon, my friends..." she whispered to herself. "Just give me a little longer."

Her eyes watched as the airspeed needle crept down to one-sixty. Once the gauge showed it twitching above the desired speed, she lowered her flaps by flipping a switch on the left side of the panel. The hydraulics ground to life, and the drag increased further. Now that she had the aircraft flying dirty, she brought it around in a tight bank and was now at ninety knots. Despite the damage at the end of the runway, the structure's full length still remained, and she knew she could land. With a pounding heart, she pushed her nose down toward the runway which stretched off into the distance. The altimeter needle began to spin backward, and the ground came rushing up to her. The feet of altitude began to disappear in seconds, the aircraft shook suddenly, and pitched to the left as the result of a crosswind. She countered with right rudder, and turned the nose to the right, keeping the fuselage over the runway centerline.

From the outside, the graceful old warplane's dark blue nose pointed slightly to the sky. Its wings wobbled slightly in the wind, and the aircraft came toward the ground at an angle. The volume and pitch of the engine's roar rose slightly as Perrine came within a few feet of the ground, and she skimmed over about a third of the runway's surface holding off at about five feet off the ground. Once she was certain of her landing, the engine fell to an idle, and the plane glided to the ground. The wheels on the undercarriage barked as the rubber finally made contact with the runway surface, and the plane began to roll off the runway, now that its roll determined its direction instead of the crosswind. Clostermann countered with left rudder now, and reeled in the flaps. The tail fell to the paved surface with a dull thump, and the aircraft leaned slightly in the crosswinds.

Finally, after the long flight from RAF Westhampnett... she too was able to join her friends at Dover. Perrine sighed with relief, and allowed the plane to roll under its own momentum now as she came nearer and nearer to the freighter which sat at the edge of the runway's remains.

Unknown to Cameron or Lynne however, the upper-class Gallian girl had a special greeting in store for her new friend, and close confidant. Little did she know that a terrible tragedy had befallen those on board the aircraft.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note- I thank you all again for your continued reading of this story. I'm hoping that the two just-released chapters are turning out alright, and I would assume so from the recent message in the reviews section. Again, thank you commander bossman, your input is appreciated. Anyway, let's get back to the story. I froze up on the fourteenth chapter, and couldn't put much out for a long time. Since I've cleared that obstacle however, things seem to be flowing right along. As always, please read and review.**

**Stay classy FanFiction!**

Through The Storm

Chapter 16-

As the blue-nosed Spitfire came closer to the parked freighter, someone emerged from the aircraft. Clad in his tear dampened and wrinkled uniform, Cameron Taylor stumbled from the rear hatch of the C-47 with a dark conscience, and a heavy heart. His heart felt crushed, and his stomach was overwhelmed with nausea as he watched his beloved plane taxi closer through tired eyes. He had been in tears for the past few minutes. Eventually the fighter rolled to a stop, and the engine's power was cut entirely. He waited for a few seconds, then stepped down to the runway surface with weak legs. He stepped a few paces from the aircraft then, and waited for Perrine to appear. He didn't have to wait long.

He watched and listened as the Gallian threw the canopy back against its stops. She unlatched the side-door then, and snatched her Bren Light Machine Gun from where she had stowed it shortly before vaulting over the leading edge of the Spitfire's port wing. Slinging the rifle over her back, she hit the ground running. It only took a few seconds for the desperate girl to zero in on Taylor, and when she did so she threw herself into his arms with reckless abandon. Shortly after making contact, she wrapped her own arms around the young man, and held him tightly as she broke down into tears.

"Oh my God!" she wailed, her face buried into his already dampened lapels, "I thought you were dead! I could never forgive myself, oh God thank you!"

Slowly, Cameron wrapped his own arms around the shuddering Gallian. He cradled the back of her head with his left hand, and held her across the small of her back with his right. He closed his tired eyes then, and let Perrine have her turn now as she cried and cried with no end in sight.

"I'm glad... I'm glad to see that you're still alright," he said softly.

Tears still in her eyes, Perrine broke away and looked up at Cameron, for he was a few inches taller than her. He gave her a weak smile in return, his heart still heavy from the events which had occurred prior to her arrival. As their eyes met, there was a pause as everything seemed to come to a standstill...

Then Perrine did something unexpected.

As Cameron gazed upon the girl with a mixture of relief and sadness, he slowly became aware of a strange movement. In his arms Perrine was rising now, and was standing on the balls of her feet. His expression quickly changed to reveal a feeling of puzzlement, confused as to what the Gallian planned to do. His questions were answered moments later. Closing her eyes, Perrine parted her lips slightly as she leaned toward Cameron. She pressed herself against his chest, still with her arms around his torso as she drew closer and closer. Suddenly, it all registered in his mind as the moment came.

Cameron could never recall anything as memorable, nor tender, or soft... there was nothing he could think of that was as comparably warm or delightful as kissing the lips of Pierrette-Henriette Clostermann. Whilst those very words described the sensation itself, it also came with desperation, and hunger... it was eager, and filled with desire. For a few moments, Cameron could only stand and allow himself to be taken away by the young girl who kissed him so aggressively. As time wore on, he subconsciously began to return the favor, kissing her back gently and with hesitation. They lasted together for at least a few minutes then... but eventually, Perrine and Cameron parted lips. The young man's eyes were still tired, and his expression less worn, but the intimate contact that he had made with the Gallian had made a significant difference. A very significant difference. His heart was less heavy, his eyes were slightly ablaze, he seemed ready and alive. On the other hand, Perrine's appearance and demeanor had changed entirely. Her eyes were heavy, and fell half closed with a surprisingly seductive amorosity. Her lips remained spread slightly, as though she were looking for more. She clung to Cameron, waiting expectantly, hoping, and dreaming. Seconds ticked by, and Cameron's eyes had changed from tired to bright. He fixed a solid and quiet gaze upon Perrine, and spoke to her in a low melancholy tone, one which was sad, but also thankful respectively.

"Perrine... never again will I be able to receive such a gift from you, nor will I be able to ask for something such as this. Thank you. Thank you so much."

The girl in his arms lingered on the statement, turning the words over in her head. There was a brief period where her expression remained the same, and the hungry look for more affection and a long kiss still stood above all. After a few moments however, that quickly changed. As though coming out of some sort of trance, Perrine came to a sudden realization of what she had done. Her eyes widened, and she suddenly sucked in a short breath, shocked by her actions.

"Oh my... my... I can't believe..." she stammered, searching for words. She kept searching for something to cobble together, but could find nothing. Finally, all she could bring herself to say was, "What have I done?"

"You kissed me, plain and simple," Cameron replied.

"I know that!" Perrine howled indignantly. "What about Lynette? Don't you even care that you kissed me instead of her?"

Cameron looked away, saying nothing. The Gallian pursed her lips, and fixed a stern and scrutinizing gaze on Taylor as he turned his head further and further away from her. When his head could turn no further, Perrine pressed onward as she tried to look into his eyes. Failing this, she finally sighed in defeat.

"People like you drive me nuts," she said in a low tone. Cameron snorted in reply, and said, "Hey! You're the one who kissed me, not the other way around!"

With a shrug of her shoulders, Perrine finally broke from the embrace. Using the tips of her fingers, she whisked away the remains of her teardrops as she straightened her spectacles on the bridge of her nose. Shutting his eyes with a dejected sigh, Cameron turned toward the freighter.

"C'mon... we've got to... I've got to check on Lynne."

Making no further exchange of words, Cameron and Perrine began to walk slowly toward the larger aircraft. From a distance, neither of them could hear any sound from within the aircraft, most everything being muffled by the sounds of artillery fire being exchanged against the Neuroi. As they drew closer to the rear hatch however, their ears began to pick up the distinct sound of someone else sobbing uncontrollably. Cameron's stomach began to turn over, and Perrine couldn't help but draw in a sharp breath, still not knowing of the events which occurred during her absence. Almost at the rear hatch, she turned to face Cameron.

"What happened?" she asked with concern. "Why... why is Lynne crying like that?"

Taylor stopped, and stared straight ahead for a long time. Perrine waited patiently for his answer, carefully watching Cameron's behavior. He quivered slightly, and a small tear began to roll down his already damp cheek. His head began to fall slowly then, and he fixed a blank stare at the ground. Seconds passed, and he soon covered his face with his hands.

"I can't stand to see her this way Perrine! For the love of God, It's... I can't describe this!" He stopped a moment, drawing his hands up over his head, running his fingertips through his hair. Still, the Gallian stood silently, awaiting his answer. More tears fell, though not as many as earlier. She could feel his pain, and it was deeper than even his own emotions could portray. It was a combination of guilt, anger, and sadness that rivaled no other thing like it.

"We were attacked... some big man, I couldn't see his rank... he snuck on board, and grabbed Lynette!" he wailed. "He tore at her hair, and... and... then James shot at him! They shot at each other, and he killed James! For the love of God, that man is dead!"

Perrine gasped, still not willing to accept what had happened. The shock etched itself into her expression, and she covered her mouth with her fingertips as she turned away. The air was so heavy with terrible grief that if one were to look closely, they could see it turning dark. A nausea slowly began to come over Perrine.

"I'm so sorry!" she said in a near whisper.

There was a long silence then as the sounds of Lynette's grieving echoed from the C-47. The Gallian remained standing, not knowing how to act. She stared at Taylor for awhile, but shortly turned her attention back to the open hatch. It just didn't seem possible that something so terrible could have happened, yet here she was now with both Cameron and Lynne in tears, with yet another one of her friends killed. It just didn't seem fair! The man hadn't died in combat, he had died at the hands of another human being, and to what end? Finding that there was nothing more to do, her gaze shifted downward to the scorched and soot-covered runway. She had run out of tears by now... there was nothing left to cry over it seemed. The events of the past few days seemed unbelievable, or impossible to comprehend. It had all started so simply, with Lynne disappearing, and she herself being sent after the Sergeant. One thing then lead to another, and soon after she found herself grieving over another innocent life taken for no apparent reason.

The pair remained at the hatch, time passing onward without them. Cameron and Perrine assumed that they were alone, save for Lynne being on board the aircraft and Cambridge remaining nearby, watching her. In the silence during this time, their thoughts were interrupted by a soft shuffling of footsteps from behind. Not expecting anything, Cameron's head rose but he did not turn. The shuffling stopped behind him, and there was a grunt. He could sense something big, and something familiar behind him, stalking him, waiting. Taylor noticed then that the big thing behind him pressed something against the back of his head. It was hard and cold he noticed, something narrow, and something he knew all too well.

"Bang." the terrible officer growled, an awful grin spreading across his lips.

Cameron spun around suddenly as he snarled, "FUCK YOU!" with an incomprehensible rage. He brought his right fist around in an untrained swing at the man, aiming for his jaw. Despite his small stature, Taylor put his whole body into the swing as he angled upward, hoping to hit the man and knock him back. Somehow, it worked. The swing made contact with the man's bottom jaw, and the force was enough to make his head snap backward. By this time, Perrine had also turned to see who was behind them. She quickly unslung her Bren, and snapped the safety off.

"I HOPE YOU BURN IN THE VERY DEEPEST PITS OF HELL!" Cameron roared. His voice had broken greatly, reducing itself into a sound which seemed to be almost inhuman. His opponent's grin remained, and his eyes were ablaze with an almost joyous malevolence. The Webley Double-Action, the very same gun which had so mercilessly cut Ireland down with it's earlier use, began to swing upward at Cameron. Its hammer was already cocked in the firing position, ready kill yet another person.

Before the fight could come to an end however, Perrine brought her rifle up to bear. Shouldering the heavy weapon, she howled angrily at the man, "Laissez-le tranquille, vous insensible bâtard assassiner!" Without hesitation, her finger squeezed the trigger as the revolver leveled at Cameron. The Bren rattled to life, and soon the man's chest was stitched from the left shoulder to the right and down from a five round burst of fire. As each .303 round plunged into the man, his body shook with each impact, and he himself stumbled about three steps back. Cameron watched the expression on the man's face, and was both shocked as well as angry that the terrible grin still remained, with the man's eyes alight. With the look still on his face, he sank to his knees, staring at Taylor all the while. The man's expression revealed only one message, one which seemed to say '_I__ won.__'_

Cameron took a step forward. "You _worthless...__murdering...__smug__ sack__ of__ horse __shit!_" he said in a dark tone, "Wipe that shit-eating grin off your god damned dirty face."

The officer laughed between clenched teeth. "_You __think __you__'__ve__ won...__you __stupid__ boy.__This__ isn__'__t__ the __end.__There __are__ many__ others __like__ me,__ and__ you__ cannot __stop__ the__ rest__ of__ them._"

Angrily, Taylor spat in the man's face. "Just die already, you sick son of a bitch." He then reached under the left breast of his uniform, and withdrew a weapon he had concealed. Perrine watched as, with agonizing slowness, Cameron withdrew another revolver. It was a Colt New Service Revolver, the very same which Ireland had originally used against the terrible officer. Now, with calm and precision, the boy switched off the safety and leveled the weapon at the man. Taylor planned on having the last laugh, and began to pull the trigger.

"_Go __for__ it __boy..._" the man taunted. "_You__'__ll __gain __nothing__ for __killing __me...__you__'__ll__ regret__ your__ actions.__ You__ don__'__t__ have __the __BALLS__ to__ kill__ me, __you__ insignificant__ bastard._"

Cameron chuckled lightly. "Do you really think I'll fall for that bullshit? Don't you dare try to evade your punishment, you scum. Unlike the other idiots, who feel it's better to let those who have done terrible things live with their actions... I feel that people like you need to be put out of commission. _Goodbye_."

Cameron then pulled the trigger, and the Colt roared with a ghostly blast. Perrine stared on, her expression grim, as the round struck the man right between his eyes. It left a neat hole in his forehead, but behind him the air was sprayed with a cloud of red mist. Bits of gore scattered behind the man, who still wore the terrible grin as he died. He remained on his knees for a brief moment, before his torso began to sway slightly. After a few seconds, he flopped backward with a heavy thud, a red puddle of blood slowly spreading around his lifeless body. While Perrine and Cameron watched, the click of their safeties could be heard as they reengaged them. Closing his eyes with a sigh, Cameron returned James' bloodied Colt to where he had hidden it under his uniform. Perrine simply returned her Bren to its previous position, slung over her back.

"You... you actually did it." Perrine said softly. "You actually killed him."

Cameron turned away, disgusted both with the man and himself. "And I'm sure I'll always regret it," he replied. "But... after what he did to Lynne, and to James... I could not allow this to go on." He drew his hands over his face, staring ahead as he uncovered his eyes. He felt as though he could vomit, though his mind resisted this urge. Finally he said, "I've never killed another man before. That was my first time."

Before either Cameron or Perrine could say anything more, there was a sound which came from the open hatch behind them. Cameron turned suddenly, and was surprised to find Lynne standing there, watching them. Her tear-streaked face was haggard, and her hair was a mess. There were lines under her eyes, and the color in her eyes was dim. She blinked once, looking at Taylor.

"I heard... I heard gunfire," she murmured. "What happened?" Shifting her gaze to the right, she was shocked to see Perrine standing opposite of Cameron. "My God!" she said with a gasp, "_Perrine?_ When did you get here?"

Cameron fixed a dark stare upon the Sergeant. "Just now," he answered. "Look, you shouldn't be out here right now... maybe in a moment." Following the statement, he placed himself between Lynne and her view of the man he had just killed. "There are some things that I just cannot allow you to see. I'm... I'm sorry."

Making no argument, Lynette's expression darkened. She replied softly, "I understand," before quietly disappearing into the aircraft. Once she had left, Cameron found himself staring at the empty space she had once occupied, a massive feeling of shame and sadness overwhelming him. Perrine put her hand on his shoulder, and shook her head.

"That was a bit harsh... but... at least you're doing your best to protect her."

Cameron let loose a shuddering sigh. "Yeah... I guess... I guess I'll have to take your word for it."

Taking a moment to breath and relax, Taylor took a step back from the Douglas. He then turned slightly, and took a moment to gaze over what had once been concealed by the dense fog and smoke. Though the view was still hazy, he was amazed to find himself staring at a massive fortification. He was silent as his eyes swept the view, taking note of the various gun emplacements as they blasted away. He was amazed at the architecture that was now visible, such as the numerous turrets and stone walls, and the beautiful masonry. It just seemed incredible that this massive thing had been hidden by the fog just minutes earlier. Still awestruck, Cameron drew in a sudden breath.

"It's amazing... I can't believe that this is your base, Perrine."

At that moment, there was a low drone which resonated from the fortification. It was quite familiar, and Cameron almost immediately placed it as being an aircraft engine. He began to search for the source of the noise, but could find no immediate culprit. His head was on the swivel, but despite his efforts he could find no visible aircraft.

"Perrine... can you hear that? I hear fighters, inbound."

The Gallian nodded. "I hear it... shh, don't talk." Perrine listened intently, picking out the sound from the rest of the noise. She turned it over in her mind, analyzing the pitch and volume. She nodded to herself, and even cupped her ear to get a better sound. Finally, she smiled. "Those aren't planes Cameron, those are Striker Units! It's Commander Minna and Major Sakamoto! They're coming for us!"

The volume of the strikers' drone was increasing as the witches drew rapidly closer. His curiosity piqued, Cameron stepped around Perrine and took care to skirt the mess he had made on the runway. He hurriedly stumbled his way around the tip of the C-47's wing, and was shocked to find two figures come shooting out of the hangar opposite of where he stood. He noticed that these figures had devices attached to their legs that were closely similar to the ones which Lynne and Perrine wore. Cameron was captivated by the sight, and likened the scene to two figure skaters shooting across an ice rink. They darted amongst each other, weaving as they came nearer. After they had made it halfway across the taxiway, they took to the air and skimmed over the ground at low altitude. It was an incredible sight, and still one which he failed to comprehend despite the fact that Perrine had flown faithfully alongside him from the hangar in the forest and clear to Westhampnett. The two witches were nearly on top of him now, and were soon past him as they shot overhead. Looking up, he noticed that the pair of unknown girls were carrying a crate, its contents a mystery to him.

After traveling a few feet behind the aircraft, the girls swung their legs forward as a crude air brake. Stopping in a hover, they then descended slowly toward the ground, lowering the crate until it was around one foot above the runway. They dropped it then, and without pause they turned for Cameron. As they came nearer, he was able to discern features that were earlier too small to spot. To his left, there was a girl with white Strikers and a white uniform; the latter item he recognized as belonging to the Imperial Japanese Navy. She had raven black hair drawn into a ponytail, and to her waist was tied a sheathed sword. He was still too far away from her to be able to know her rank, but he could sense that she held a high level of command. To his right, there was another girl in a uniform whose color appeared to be a very dark shade of green, something along the lines of dark olive. At first he entertained the idea that it might've been American, but he soon realized that it lacked the same breasts and lapels of the Army Air Force dress, as well as a tie. He decided that the other was German, most likely the Luftwaffe. He immediately took notice of her hair; it fell around halfway down her back, and was colored a dark and intense red which he would later state he found incredibly attractive. She too appeared to be of high rank, possibly equal to or greater than the first girl.

At this time, the roar of their striker units was deafening to Cameron. Gusts of wind whipped his legs, his pleated pants rippling fiercely like a flag in a storm. The girls were about a yard away from Cameron now, and were giving him a once-over with their eyes. Without a moment's pause, he gave the two women a quick and stiff salute, touching off his right brow with his right hand. He gave a slight smile and a nod as he did so, and tried to give an air of self-assuredness and certainty. In return, the Commander and Major glanced at each other before they too returned a salute. He noticed that both women had the muzzles of rifles sticking up over their shoulders; the big guns they were to use were slung over their back. He could not discern what types of weapons they were, but just from a casual glance he could tell that they were big guns, ones that support units would utilize. He tried to discover more things about the two witches before him, but Cameron never got the chance. The more visually stunning of the two, the girl from Germany, began to speak or rather, shout.

"Excuse me sir!" she shouted above the roar of her strikers, "Are you Cameron Taylor?"

Cameron nodded. "Yes I am!" he shouted back with a nod. "And may I ask who you are?"

The German gestured to herself. "Certainly! I am Base Commander Minna Dietlinde-Wilcke of Karlsland! The person adjacent to me is Major Mio Sakamoto of Fuso."

"Pleased to meet you!" Taylor replied. "We haven't much time for pleasantries, I'm afraid! Did you bring us some supplies in that crate?"

The Commander nodded. "Yes, and Perrine told us what you would apparently need. That crate contains one Boys Anti-Tank rifle, ammunition for both that weapon and for Perrine, and a few other things! I certainly hope it's enough!"

Cameron nodded. "Thank you very much... it'll do for now!" He shouted back. "I'll see you both in the skies then?"

"Yes, you will!" both girls replied. "Godspeed to you all!"

The young man grinned. "And right back at you, dear Commander!"

Without further delay the girls took off after the Neuroi, shooting straight up into the skies with a roar. Cameron stood and watched for a moment, waiting until the sounds of the girls' strikers was engulfed and diluted by the surrounding ambience. The sounds of the gun emplacements and rifle fire remained unchanged to him, and remained so as he turned back to the aircraft. Perrine stood watching him, awaiting further orders. Her hands were clasped together, and she had them held to her chest, her appearance seeming eager and ready. Cameron shut his eyes, and sighed.

"Perrine, I want you to empty that crate out right here, and right now! I'm going on board to ready your strikers, and to get Lynette ready for combat! We have no time to lose!"

The young Gallian trotted over to the crate her superiors had left behind, and began to remove its contents. As she did so, Cameron jogged over to the tail of the Douglas and boarded the aircraft. Almost immediately, the sickening smell of blood filled his nostrils. He paused for a moment, adjusting to the terrible feeling, before disappearing around the corner.

The scene on board the aircraft still sickened him... he hadn't yet taken the time to show Perrine the atrocity which had been committed. Bits of blood and gore still spattered the various crates surrounding James, his upper body now covered respectfully by Lynette's uniform. A small drizzle of deep red had slowly curled and wound its way down the aisle, but had quickly solidified and stopped about one third of the way. Cameron stopped, and swallowed hard. He was on the verge of tears it seemed, but he himself held back. He had no tears left to cry for either James or Lynne. Stopping for a moment, he let loose a shuddering sigh, and covered his face with his hands. He then drew them downward anxiously, his fingertips coming back damp with remaining tears.

His eyes swept the forward cabin, taking in a scene that most would consider to be iconic, yet terrible and gruesome. On the left side of the aircraft, Cameron could see the Armorer's friend George lounging tiredly in the forward passenger seats. His peaked cap was drawn downward slightly, shadowing his eyes as he stared blankly at the cabin ceiling. In his mouth hung a single cigarette, slightly bent, glowing dimly; its smoke curled in a thin line toward the ceiling. Cameron stopped for a moment, following the rising wisp of smoke with his eyes like a thin grey ribbon. It wove and curled as it rose, unbroken, until dispersing in a steadily deepening pool of haze on the ceiling. The young man could smell the smoke from where he stood; it was sharp, not necessarily bitter, but more acidic. It tickled his throat relentlessly, as though urging him to break the silence with a cough. He hated the smell, its permeating presence slowly building irritation within him. The smell worsened as though it could sense his thoughts.

"Cambridge..." he growled, clearing his throat, "as much as it pains you... I want that thing _out_. Now's not the time to be hazing up the aircraft with a smoke."

Taylor waited for a moment, watching the pilot with mute attention. At first, Cambridge did nothing... but after a few seconds had passed, the pilot finally did something which acknowledged the request he had been given. Saying nothing, he plucked the cigarette from his mouth, and snuffed its burning end by pinching it off with his thumb and index finger. Following that, he promptly stuffed the half-smoked stick in a breast pocket on his jumpsuit.

"Sorry about that," he mumbled in a low tone. Cameron shrugged his shoulders. "It's alright... it can't be helped." He stepped forward, bracing himself on a crate as he skirted Perrine's Strikers. "So... how's Lynne doing?"

The Pilot straightened in his seat, and nodded toward the space opposite of where he sat. "She's right where you left her... after she came back. Behind the seats... you know."

Cameron nodded as he made his way to where the Pilot directed. "Thanks."

The first thing he saw was her bare feet, which protruded from behind the crate. They were flat on the cabin floor, the ankle and lower leg tilted back at an angle; he could tell she was sitting, her legs drawn up in front of her. He rounded the corner of the crate, and finally got a full view of the Sergeant; her legs were indeed drawn up, her hands clasped together, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her head hung low, her appearance was that of sorrow and loss, with only her eyes and the top of her head revealed as she hunched forward. Her unbraided hair fell messily down the back of her vest, and her bangs shadowed her eyes. Cameron fixed his gaze on her, watching for a moment. He quickly discovered that despite being unable to see her eyes, they glistened in the dim light which filtered down upon her. They were brimming with unfallen tears.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note- OH HELL YES I WENT THERE! See what I did there (Insert nudge nudge, wink wink here)? Nah, just kidding! I certainly won't go that far!**

**Or would I... hell, who knows?**

**EDIT: The thing with Perrine didn't quite get the reaction I thought it would... I must be that good!**

**Protip: All the material that you have all read is made up on the go. There is no pre-determined plot or outline for such, though I do proofread as I go along and read the final text before distribution. Any errors or obvious glitches seen are the result of formatting errors courtesy of Fanfiction.**

Through The Storm

Chapter 17-

Lynette buried her face in between her arms. Her lashes quickly spilled their brimful of tears, the clear droplets of sorrow glinting in the dull light as they fell to the cabin floor. "I can't believe this..." she cried, "I can't believe that James... he's gone."

Making no reply, Cameron lowered himself to the floor. With a sigh, he shuffled his way over to the tearful Sergeant, and wrapped his arms around her quivering form. He stroked her back gently, and embraced her as though he were her own father. "I know... I know..." he murmured in comfort. "We'll pull through this, don't you worry. We have to keep together, we have to work together; if my mom were with us, she would say that the single most important thing for people to have is love. Not love like a relationship, or amorosity... just love, like what Paul, John, George, and Ringo would sing about."

Cameron stopped, and waited for a response from the Sergeant. It eventually came to him in the form of a subtle nod of acknowledgement, and in return he smiled. "Just remember... I'm here for you now. I will always be here for you, and I plan to be here for you. You can always cry for me Lynne... you can talk to me, you can hit me, hug me or kiss me. Do what you wish to with me... I will _always_ be here."

Lynne suddenly uncoiled, and wrapped her arms tightly around Cameron. She drew him in so closely and so tightly that the tightness began to actually bring pain to the young man's midsection, and he winced slightly. She practically threw herself into him, burying her face against his chest as she began to wail in tearful moaning and choking sobs. Her whole form shook with each release of emotion, and she held fast to the young man, who faithfully continued to embrace her, a smile spreading across his face. He closed his eyes, and cradled the back of her head.

"That's a good girl... don't hold back," he urged. "Let it all out... don't be afraid."

At that moment, the sound of light footfalls echoed through the aircraft's cabin. Originating from the tail of the aircraft, Cameron lifted his head and shifted his gaze to the back of the plane where Perrine stood in the open hatch, waiting expectantly and watching them. Realizing that she had the Cameron's attention, she cleared her throat and began to speak.

"Ah... Cameron..." she began slowly, "I've readied the equipment. All I have to do now is to ready my strikers... and take off." She looked uneasily to the side, and swallowed before stammering, "I ah... is this... have I done what needs to be done?"

Taylor nodded in agreement. "You've done enough Perrine, thank you. I'll be with you in a moment, I've just got to get Lynne ready."

The Gallian nodded and replied, "I understand. Thank you Cameron." Once she finished, she quickly and quietly departed the aircraft. Lynette's mournful sobbing died away then, and she held still, her chest rising and falling slowly, pulsing against Cameron with each tired breath. With a broken voice muffled by fabric, she asked, "What do you mean by that? To get me ready... what's going on?" She revealed her tear-streaked face, and looked up longingly at Taylor. "What's happening out there?"

The young man looked down at the Sergeant, his expression being warm, comforting and radiant. "I... I wanted you to have your time first, Lynne... before we went out to fight." He pulled in a deep breath, and sighed uneasily. "Listen. A few minutes ago... after the gunfire... your Commander and the Major just arrived. They brought us things... weapons, ammunition, and a new rifle; your rifle Lynne, the Boys!" Cameron stopped for a moment, allowing his words to sink in. Blue eyes continued to gaze upon him, unblinking, listening silently. He continued, "There's still something you can do, Lynette! You can win this, you can be the one to kill it! I know you have the will, the resilience! It's something that the British and the Americans have which is something I've always respected! It won the Battle of Britain against the Germans, it won Britain a new colony, and that which we gleaned from them lost that same colony, but created a new nation entirely. Persistence, determination... anger! I want you to get mad! Please Lynette, you can do this for James, for me!" Cameron stopped, and hugged her tightly. "You can do this for your parents, Lynne. I know that it is your wish to see them again... I understood every last one of your words back at Westhampnett. You're young... you're beautiful... you've got the power to do this! I _know_ you can do this!"

There was a long pause then, and Cameron and Lynne stared at each other. After a few moments had passed however, the Sergeant closed her eyes with tears streaming from their corners, and nodded vigorously. "_Thank you_." She said breathlessly. "_Thank you so much... for believing in me, for caring so much for me. You're right... I can do this. I will do this!_"

Cameron grinned with pride. "Alright then... let's get going!"

The supplies which Mio and Minna had brought were laid out carefully around the crate in which they were packed. The full magazines for Lynette's and Perrine's rifles were in neat stacks next to each other, along with the Sergeant's rifle, the Boys .55 inch Anti-Tank. The rifle was a massive thing, most noticeably over two feet longer than Perrine's Bren, which was still slung across her back. Standing next to the weapon the Sergeant, particularly short of stature, was almost as tall if not shorter than the Boys' length. The muzzle of the weapon was wide enough to fit one's thumb into, though one is not advised to test this on account of the possibility of a forgotten round in the chamber. The gun gleamed in the evening light, and was oiled and ready to fire. Sitting on the butt of the stock, the small cannon's muzzle pointed skyward, motionless, like a short flagpole.

Perrine currently stood a short distance down the runway, watching the inbound Neuroi. The distant rumble of strikers permeated the air, and her eyes followed the distinct dots of her superiors as they darted through the skies. She felt uneasy as she watched, unable to do anything but pray that the Major and the Commander could hold out until she and Lynette arrived. She was oblivious to the other sounds and goings on around her; the breeze from the Dover Strait made her uniform ripple gently and slowly, and cast her golden hair off to one side. The ocean hissed and crashed below her, the waves striking the sides of the runway and the rocks from its landfill. If it were any other evening, it would have been beautiful, calming and pleasant. The wonderful scene was, however, marred by the interruption of yet another barrage of gunfire, as well as the remaining clouds of smoke and the smell of burnt cordite. Such was the sad side of the battlefield, proving once more that nothing in war is ever beautiful.

After a few moments a voice called out to her, breaking her attention from her observation. Cameron called to her, "Perrine, it's time! Lynette and I have your strikers ready!"

The Gallian turned to find Cameron and Lynne exiting the aircraft carrying her striker units. Cameron held the strikers under his arms, leading the load with the combination propeller hub and landing gear under each arm. Behind him the Sergeant followed suit, carrying the load the same way but holding the broad end where the operator's legs were to be inserted into the devices. Leaving the aircraft, the couple quickly made their way to the waiting Gallian. Coming to a stop, Cameron set the hubs on the ground, and Lynette propped the units up.

"Have you got them?" He asked her, stepping away.

"Yes, I do. You help Perrine into them."

Taylor turned to face Perrine now, and nodded with a slight smile. "Well, now's the time to do this," he began. "Lynette informed me on how to load the pilot into these things... sadly we don't have a stand, so we'll have to improvise. Is your weapons load ready?"

She nodded. "Yes, but I'll need the extra ammunition. Can you grab it for me once I take off?"

"Certainly," Cameron replied.

Once the agreement had been made, the young man then lowered himself to the ground in a crouch. Perrine stared at him curiously for a moment, wondering what he was doing. After a few seconds pause, the action dawned on her. Her eyebrow rose suspiciously.

"How do you intend to load me into them... exactly?"

Cameron laughed. "Why, you're to sit on my shoulders of course! I'm taller than Lynette, so that's the logic behind it. I promise I won't do anything that I shouldn't. You have my word."

Perrine reddened, but said nothing further in argument. She circled around behind Cameron, hesitated for a moment, and then began to lift her leg over his shoulder. It seemed to take an eternity for her to mount Taylor's shoulders, and when she did the young man couldn't help but notice. The motion was first caught out of the corner of one eye, and he found his gaze riveted on one of her smooth and soft legs, toned in a darker shade by the nylon leggings she wore. She lowered her leg to the ground slowly, before putting her foot on the ground and putting weight on it. There was another pause then, before the other leg was lifted over his shoulder. Taylor smiled to himself.

"Good God, her legs are gorgeous!" he thought to himself. "For someone who has her stature, she sure is beautiful... there's no denying that."

Soon both of Perrine's beautiful legs were over Cameron's shoulders, and the Gallian waited patiently for the young man to rise. She cleared her throat in warning, and then said, "Okay, you can lift me up now. Just go slowly, please."

He nodded, and began to stand up slowly, taking on the weight like one would take up the slack in a rope. Despite wearing four layers, those being an undershirt, a dress shirt, tie, and uniform with lapels, Cameron's neck was still exposed. During his rise he immediately began to press against Perrine, and, never having the opportunity to actually feel a woman's body save Lynette's morning incident back in Westhampnett, his mind failed to comprehend the intolerable sensation. He first felt something very smooth, that something being the leggings which she wore over a pair of white panties. He froze suddenly, and a cold chill danced down his back. Perrine took notice.

"Excuse me..." she said in a disturbing and agitated tone, "is something wrong?"

Cameron lowered himself slightly, shook his head, and then rose again. "No, nothing's wrong. I'm just hesitating. I thought you'd moved or something like I'd picked up too fast. Sorry!"

Satisfied by his reply, the Gallian looked off to the side, red. The young man then continued where he left off, continuing to press against Perrine as the weight of her body pressed against his neck and shoulders. The next feeling which was to make itself well known was an impossible and incredible softness. His whole neck was engulfed by this, and her soft thighs were insanely warm, but to Cameron they were as hot as molten gold yet without the pain that comes with such a material burning one's body away. As the saying goes Taylor was frightened to find himself very hot and bothered, and non-figuratively, very hot under the collar as well; a stream of sweat was dampening the inside of his uniform, soaking his under and dress shirts. He almost had her off the ground now, and her heels were coming up off the ground... suddenly, he felt something more. It was the tipping point it seemed, and a cold wash flowed over him. At first, he refused to believe that there was something more than Perrine's soft and warm legs, something which pressed against the center of his neck and was warmer than the rest of her body. Though as an author I feel it to be quite rude to explain such a thing in an adventure novel, this thing which Cameron felt was much warmer, and much softer than anything that even the human breast could compare to. It was not exactly smooth, but it wasn't tainted in any sort of way either... of course it remained untouched by any other person, she was fifteen for Christ's sakes! By now, Cameron was overflowing with guilt, which in turn was easily overridden by other emotions. Maybe he was just imagining things? Maybe even the most attentive person had no way of imagining what said shrouds withheld from the world, and quite possibly his mind was very filthy and conjured up such images just to spite him. Taylor's face was flushed red, and his skin was slick with sweat. Though miraculously still hidden, Cameron realized that his libido was running as wildly and as rampantly as a middle schooler through a brothel full of consent-aged girls.

It was then that the other parts of Taylor's body began to make any sort of indication as to the thoughts running through his mind. The young man swallowed hard and desperately tried to will the reaction away, recalling a list of tips from an internet forum topic from long ago.

"Pins and needles, hacksaws and axe blades!" He screamed in his mind as he imagined various points on his body being defiled by such objects. "For fuck sake, die, die, die!"

An angry look appeared on his face, and grabbing Perrine's ankles he straightened upright as he rose suddenly. Perrine nearly fell, but managed to keep her grip and balance by grabbing onto Cameron's head. She then swatted him with the back of her hand.

"I said to move slowly you idiot! You nearly made me fall!"

As the agitated Gallian voiced her displeasure, Cameron quickly marched his way over to her strikers, which Lynne held up patiently. Nodding toward the broad end, he muttered, "Put your leg in... now. Please."

The sound of Perrine's voice ceased for a moment, and she quietly and suspiciously wondered why his tone changed to a dark, demanding, and almost desperate and pleading note. Letting go of one leg, Cameron watched as the free leg extended with its toe pointed outward, stepping forward slightly as he watched as her foot disappear into the dark opening of the striker. He stopped then, allowing her to put her other foot into the appropriate second device. If not done correctly, it would be very awkward loading the Gallian into her strikers one leg at a time. By now both feet were into the units, and Cameron stepped forward. He quickly came to regret his actions however, when the interior of the strikers began to glow a bright blue.

"Oh crap..." he said aloud without thinking. "I forgot that you're witches..."

Squinting his eyes against the bright blue light, he felt something growing suddenly from Perrine's rear, somewhere around the base of her spine. His heart pounded fearfully, and he shook not knowing what this thing could be. He felt it with utmost clarity... he thought it was some sort of snake, but it was too soft and thin to be that. He held perfectly still, frozen with shock and surprise as this strange thing began to disappear under the collar of his uniform, stretching and uncoiling as it slipped down the back and over the seams. Suddenly it changed its course, whatever it was, and it began to worm its way through the shoulder and down the right sleeve of his uniform. The blue light began to dim at that moment, and the thing stopped growing; it was to his wrist now, and he realized that this thing was soft, and furry. Seeing that he was no longer needed, Cameron ducked away from under Perrine, and rose close behind her. The Gallian, still suspicious of Cameron, felt something being pulled. She turned with an angry look on her face.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" she roared. "I'll end you!"

She stopped for a moment, surprised to find the young man staring with a bewildered expression at his right wrist. His gaze was not fixed on his wrist per say, but was focused more so on something which protruded next to it, from the cuff of his uniform. It squirmed and quivered with agitation, and caused the whole sleeve to move. It was covered in black hair, fur really, and seemed to have its own muscles and bone. Cameron followed it carefully with his eyes... it ran through his sleeve... past the elbow to the shoulders... then it brushed against his neck, and was attached to Perrine at what seemed to be the tailbone. He suddenly stopped with his eyes locked on the point of attachment, the realization dawning on him.

"Oh for God sake!" he growled, grabbing the base of Perrine's tail with both hands. He stepped backward a pace then, and began to pull the long and furry appendage from under his uniform in a hand over hand motion, the movement causing a whisper of fabric. Once the tip of the Gallian's tail was free of the weight, the whole length of it began to snap about the air like a severed live wire; most cats, when upset, whip their tails around. They are the exact opposite of dogs. Perrine glared at him for a moment, her eyes scanning his reddened face and shaking body. She knew exactly what he had been thinking, and she was on the verge of attacking him once she took off. Cameron began to stumble off in the direction of the crate, crouching low with his hands over his head.

"Screw this bloody gig, I'm out! Out, out, out!" he bellowed. "All we needed to do was just put her into the things, for God sake!" From his sorrowful tone, all could tell that Cameron felt guilty.

Lynne turned to Perrine, bewildered. "What was that all about?" she asked.

The Gallian shut her eyes, and sighed. She knew what it was, but erred on the side of caution by replying, "Heaven only knows... men, we can't always understand them you know." She turned her back to Lynette then and said, "Okay... might want to step back a bit, because God only knows what the prop blades would do to your ankles... though I don't think they'd do much of anything. They're just formed shields."

Once the words left her lips, two blue and transparent tri-blade props extended from beneath a gap between the propeller hubs and the rest of the striker units. A massive circle appeared beneath the two girls, which was covered in Gallic symbols and writing. Markings of an ancient world covered, turned, and rotated over the ground, and various mechanical symbols took up axis points on the circle, forming a sort of pentagram. The strikers then started, the blades spinning to life with a roar exactly like their counterpart aircraft. Dust and debris were blasted away from Lynne and Perrine, and both girls' clothing flapped about in the gusts. Lynette allowed a few seconds to pass, letting the engines on the strikers warm up into operation.

Over at the crate, despite his guilt Cameron was upholding his end of the bargain. He had hurriedly and clumsily snatched up the extra ammunition for the Bren slung across Perrine's back, and now was making his way back to her with the armful. Shielding his face from the prop wash, he circled in front of the Gallian and held the ammunition up to her as high as he could.

"Here, take it!" he shouted over the engines. "You've got to take off!"

Saying nothing, Perrine leaned down and snatched the magazines from his arms, quickly stuffing them into her gear belt and, when that was full, the pockets of her uniform. Once the last magazine had been taken, Cameron looked up at the witch above him. In return, she smiled at him.

"Thank you. I'll see you in the skies!"

Lynette pushed Perrine's strikers forward, and dashed away in tandem with Cameron. The sound of the engines rose in pitch as power was applied, and the Gallian leaned forward as she was thrust down the runway. She traveled only a short distance then, before lifting off of the ground and into the air. There was an even louder roar then, and both the young man and the Sergeant watched as Perrine rocketed into the sky, coming rapidly closer to her superiors who fought valiantly above. Cameron turned to Lynette with a sigh, and jerked his head in the direction of the dormant Spitfire.

"C'mon. It's our turn now."

Without further discussion, he and Lynette returned to the crate and the fighter. Without asking, he snatched up the .55 inch magazines from the tarmac and turned for the parked aircraft. Behind him, Lynne picked up the massive tank rifle. They then ran toward the Spitfire, with Cameron leaping onto the wing and simply dumping the clips into the cockpit. He knocked a couple from the seat once free of the armload, and threw himself into it. He attached the lower points of his flight harness, and waved Lynne aboard.

"Onto my shoulders!" he shouted. "I don't care what happened last time, this is too important!"

She followed suit, vaulting herself up into the cockpit. She slipped her legs over Cameron's shoulders, and used the open canopy to rest her back against. Cameron secured her down now by latching the shoulder points of his flight harness, slipping the straps over her legs and loosening them in order to give the room for them. Once latched, he retightened the straps whilst simultaneously, the same thoughts he had had with Perrine returned, though not as strongly. He forced his attention to the battle ahead, and nodded to himself. He flipped switches, engaged fuel lines... the blades turned, and the Spitfire roared to life eager for its upcoming fight. He let it idle for a moment, before shouting back at Lynette.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes!" she replied.

"We're off!"

(Author's Note- For those with the new Mylo Xyloto album from Coldplay, I'd advise starting the first two tracks, Mylo Xyloto and Hurts Like Heaven, now.)

Pushing and drawing back repeatedly on the throttle, Cameron disengaged the parking brake and began to taxi. He swung the tail of the Spitfire around then in a tight circle, and lined the nose of the aircraft up with the eastern direction of the runway. Lastly, he dropped his flaps and shoved the throttle to its stop. The engine snarled happily.

Cameron cried out a battle charge then, and the Spitfire leapt down the runway at full military power. The cold gusts whipped his face as well as Lynette's, but whilst he felt the brunt of the weather, the Sergeant felt very little from her years of flight experience. The feet quickly rolled away beneath the aircraft, though it felt like only a short time before the tail lifted up off of the runway surface. Without waiting for airspeed to be gained, Taylor drew back on the yoke. The aircraft jumped into the air, and picked up its landing gear. With a grinding of pulleys, the flaps were drawn in lastly and he banked off to the right. The Neuroi was practically over them now, and its shadow covered the Spitfire, which was tiny in comparison to its immense size.

Every single set of eyes were set on the fighter as it rose into the air. The gunners on the Eastern side of the base watched, shocked and bewildered, as the lone fighter took off into the golden evening light. Within the hangar, the dozens of soldiers and the Royal Marines watched with a grin. All were eager to meet whoever was flying that plane, but all knew that now was only a time to prey. The Captain stood on the now cooled severance point of the runway, his arms folded over each other, with an even broader grin than even those of the members of the squad he commanded. He was currently thinking of a way to bridge the gap and reach what he now spotted on the other side, the C-47 parked idly on the tarmac. The air was free of the roar of guns and rifle fire, and now the stage was taken by only the four witches and their mysterious pilot.

The Neuroi, for some unknown reason, was slowly turning away from the base. Below the creature, Perrine was flying along its length, stitching its belly with a rattle from her Bren. Above, the Major and the Commander were doing their part as well, opening up and slashing at the creature respectively. Upon hearing the sound of the Spitfire, all eyes turned downward.

"Here he comes!" Perrine shouted triumphantly.

Its nose and prop blades gleaming in the setting sun, the Spitfire clawed its way into the skies as quickly and as hurriedly as it could. Using heavy rudder and sharp banking, Cameron turned back toward the Neuroi, still not having had a decent look at the assailant. Above him, with her uniform rippling fiercely in the wind, Lynette loaded a magazine into her rifle. She drew the bolt, and removed the safety.

"I'm firing!" she shouted.

With half of their attention drawn to the fight, and the other to the fighter, the girls watched as the aircraft came toward them. There was a thunderous gunshot in the distance; the firing of the Boys rifle echoed over the coastlines, and was audible for miles. One dazzlingly dresden blue eye stared down the side-mount scope of the weapon, and her hand mechanically worked back the bolt again, loading another round. The gun thundered again, and again, and again, and massive holes were blown in the side of the Neuroi. Like shattered glass, gleaming shards were cast over its surface, and they glittered beautifully in the setting sunlight.

Finally getting a decent view of the alien craft, Taylor was scrutinizing its profile with a careful eye. Something seemed suspiciously familiar about this thing... at first he couldn't place it, but deep down he knew he'd seen it somewhere before. He'd had the same feeling when he had been approaching it with the Douglas, and had been wanting to get a better look at it for quite awhile. He could tell quite obviously that whatever it was meant to be, it was an old aircraft. The "fuselage," he noted, was rather long... around 150 to 160 feet, and atop it was mounted long, straight wings. Strangely, however, their leading edge was swept back. At first he thought it to be the B-29 Superfortress, the American long-range, high-altitude bomber which had dropped two atomic weapons on the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan, and effectively ended the Second World War. Then his engineer's eyes took an even closer second look, and found something more. There were these strange "pods" on the wings he realized, or rather they were in the wings. He counted six of them, three on each wing, and noticed that the shape of the cockpit differed greatly from that of the B-29, bubbling up above like a separate canopy. Apart from a matching tail, he slowly came to realize what the aircraft truly was.

Realizing an advantage, he elbowed Lynette in the leg. "FIRE AT THE PODS ON THE WINGS!" he shouted. "I KNOW THIS PLANE, THE ENGINES SUCK ON IT! IF THIS IS ANYTHING LIKE IT, YOU'LL NAIL IT!"

He felt her legs tighten on his neck, and felt her midsection become firm as she turned, shouldering the tank rifle again. The gun thundered, and his eyes traced the .55 inch round as it streaked across the sky with a sparkling blue trail. The round found the innermost "engine" on the left wing, and upon contact the engine exploded in a shower of shards. Almost instantly, some sort of alien "scream" erupted from the thing. One of its red markings began to glow.

"Oh shit!" he cursed aloud. "Lynne, I have the bad feeling that something bad is incoming!"

The Sergeant, knowing this fact, was already one step ahead of Cameron. There was a dazzling blue light which appeared in front of the Spitfire at that moment, and suddenly a shield appeared in front of the whirling prop blades. A pillar of light lanced out of the red marking on the Neuroi, and came straight at the Spitfire. It struck the shield hard, and the aircraft shook violently as the air was heated by the energy the beam gave off. Fighting valiantly, Taylor managed to keep the old fighter steady as the Sergeant held her shield up. He tossed the yoke over, and rolled the aircraft out of the beam. They were clear then, and Lynette drew back her power.

"I certainly hope that your superiors get the message!" he shouted above the roar of his engine. "You're amazing Lynette, and I don't know what I or your country would do without you!"

Coming in high, Cameron watched as the other witches began to take shots at the other engine pods. One by one they began to disintegrate, each explosion as fierce and dazzling as the last. Lynette, her power unhindered by her strikers, was able to put up massive shields against the onslaught of shards which came at the fighter. Cameron flew with a set jaw, his lips drawn thin as he danced through the skies.

Lynette gently wrapped the top of his head. "Cameron... in order to destroy it, we must find a core! It looks like a big red jewel, and is usually at some key point on the Neuroi! Where do you think it might be?"

The young man thought for a moment, but quickly came to realize where it was. He grinned at his own logic, and replied, "I know _exactly_ where it is! It's in the cockpit!" he explained as he pushed his nose down. Cameron and Lynne were coming in at the rear of the massive aircraft, and the fighter was swooping down in over its tail. The entire length of the top of the "fuselage" was covered in red markings. All began to glow, sensing an assailant coming in from behind.

"Cameron, what are you doing? You're going to get us killed!" Lynette screamed.

Taylor grinned, shaking his head. "I didn't compete in the Reno Air Races for nothing! I knew this would come in handy some day!"


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note- Yes I know, the Neuroi was not as large as expected... though it's still pretty damn large when you consider it. Really one should not consider what is on the outside, but what is on the inside. And knowing this, you must ask yourself again... why a bomber? There's much more to this Neuroi than meets the eye. As always please read and review folks, and again I thank you all, the readers.**

Through The Storm

Chapter 18-

As known by your common aviator or aviatrix, your modern air race is a race with streamlined aircraft, usually propeller driven, over either a looped or start-and-finish course set in an open area, or over water. Air races have been around for a very long time, the first actually recorded race being held in St. Louis, Missouri in 1908 for a prize of five-thousand dollars; the two "aeronauts" who were the only ones to finish the course split the prize. Races were originally based on reaching certain landmarks from a point of departure until one reaches the end landmark or airfield. As time wore on however, this method of racing while scenic became quite dull to most pilots and race plotters, much like the common automobile racer would eventually tire of shooting off into the distance on a flat space of earth such as the salt flats or a runway. The pilots and race directors needed something to "spice up" the races, and so in a stroke of inspiration they made many changes. The first of these changes, of course, was how to make the course more interesting. In automobile racing for instance, if one were to tire of the straight shot or drag racing strip, one could take the race to the streets or more preferably to a specially laid course or "track." In aviation, it is a much more difficult conundrum to do anything similar. There is no known way to mark any sort of aerial course for the aircraft to follow... one cannot simply send balloons aloft with rings or lights to show the way for the aviators. Therefore, the way of marking the races not only made them more interesting, but severely increased their difficulty as well. Soon the races were performed at very low altitudes, and as time wore on with the development of aircraft and their engines, much higher speeds. Around the 'teens and upwards of the 1900's, pylon racing soon became the standard for such aerial competitions. The courses soon proved to be an exhilarating test of the reflexes of many men and women, and brought forth many innovations in aircraft design.

To most if not all pilots involved with air races, the idea of this sort of contest is a novelty much like any other type of race. The only other place where pilots could perform the same maneuvers of air racing was active combat, though even situations requiring low-altitude, high-speed flight were seldom required. Henceforth, following every war involving aircraft, air races soon became havens for the pilots of wartime who desired to either keep their skills honed or, in many cases, perfect them to a much higher degree. Not one of these men and women who began their racing career ever considered that these skills would be valued or useful in some way in their future. Cameron Taylor was about to prove the possible worth of these skills now, as he plunged over the tail-like appendage at the rear section of the Neuroi.

"God damn you Cameron Taylor," Lynne screamed fearfully, "you're going to get us killed!"

The Spitfire's engine snarled as it rose into an unnerving roar; Cameron shoved the throttle to its stop, engaging full military power. The prop bit the cold air, and the fighter lurched forward as it streaked toward the top surface of the Neuroi. Littered down the length of the fuselage including a scattering on the wings and a mass collection where equivalent gun turrets would be located, the red markings of the great beast began to glow menacingly. A slight smirk began to pull at the corner of the young man's lips, and he furrowed his brow as he began to plan his maneuvers. Behind him, Lynette was scared out of her wits as the couple came rapidly closer to their seeming demise. She understood now that Cameron knew nothing of the incomprehensible maneuverability of the Neuroi's beams; they could find their target with deadly accuracy, extending a distance of around two yards or more whilst remaining perpendicular to their point of origin. Once the few yards of distance were covered, the beam would be directed to any angle desired by the aggressor, so long as the beam did not make contact with the surface of the Neuroi who fired it. From experience gained in combat, Lynne knew that there hadn't been a single pilot as of yet who could outmaneuver the sweeping beams of the terrible creatures. She had seen many an airman die from contact and exposure; sometimes the beam would cut into the fuel tank, effectively causing the aircraft to detonate in mid flight. Other times, it would be the complete severance of a wing or an engine, leaving the aircraft to cartwheel as it fell toward the sea or the ground, the inertial forces causing the aircraft to tear itself apart. She shivered as her mind conjured up images of past events, the worst being a time when a Neuroi beam severed a Hawker Hurricane from its propeller hub to the trailing edge of its vertical stabilizer. It parted the aircraft into neat halves like a hot knife through butter... also doing the same to the pilot which the flying machine carried. Unlike other losses she had seen in similar cases, the aircraft failed to either catch fire or explode, instead treating the poor girl to a view of the pilot's corpse before the disintegrating aircraft plummeted into the Dover Strait. There was not a single word or phrase which could describe the gruesome scene... mangled seemed to fit, but it was too perfect to be mangled. One should never have to endure the horror of seeing the human body in such a state or appearance, the whole thing being similar to a cut-out planform view of an aircraft in-diagram.

Below the frightened Sergeant, Cameron began to feel Lynette's body as it tensed in reflex. She began to shake violently, hunching forward for reasons unknown to the young man. Confusedly, he elbowed her on one leg.

"Lynne?" he shouted over the roar of the engine, "What's going on? I need you to get ready! Once we're through, it is imperative that you shoot at the dome on the top of the forward fuselage!"

In response the Sergeant shook her head rapidly, her eyes slamming shut. "I can't!" she wailed. "I can't do it, for God's sake I can't do it! I don't want to die! Please, we can't do this!"

At that moment, the red markings which covered the surface of the Neuroi reached their brightest glow. Cameron's gaze was fixed on the skies before him, the great creature becoming larger and broader in his canopy. The underside of his Spitfire glowed crimson now from the light of the beams; they had charged to their highest power, and were ready to fire. Cameron shut his eyes then, and pulled in a deep breath.

"God protect me," he began in brief prayer. "It is now that I ask for your protection and guidance, if you can hear me here. I may not be so faithful, but I do believe in you..." he came to a pause, and opened his eyes. They blazed with ferocity, and determination now. The chill air filled his lungs, his heart thundered in his chest, and his smirk had turned into a grin. With the roar of the engine filling his ears, he finished the prayer with, "Amen."

* * *

About a mile above the Neuroi Commander Minna, Major Sakamoto and Flying Officer Clostermann had formed into a small group after their successful attacks on the Neuroi. All eyes were turned downward, apprehension and alarm building within their hearts and minds as they noticed that the Neuroi's red markings were beginning to glow in preparation for a return attack. All three sets of eyes swept the scene below, the women searching desperately for the dark smudge which would be Cameron's Spitfire.

The Commander wore an expression which could only be described as furious. "I still can't find him!" she shouted aloud to the others in an anxious tone. "If they aren't clear of its range soon, they'll be killed!" She straightened, and turned to the Major. "Mio, can you see them?"

Sakamoto nodded once, lifting her eyepatch with her thumb and index finger. Her gaze was locked on a spot near the tail of the Neuroi below. "Yes Minna... it's not looking good either, they're right over the tail section and..." she paused a moment, screwing up her vision before finishing, "they seem to be headed toward the forward sections of the Neuroi."

Hearing this, Perrine darted over to the side of the Major. "What in the hell is going on then? Shouldn't we be down there helping them? What could he be thinking, doing such a foolish thing?" Clostermann suddenly reached over and grabbed one of the lapels of Mio's uniform, knocking the Major off-balance. "For Christ's sake, we must do something!"

At that very moment, the beams of the behemoth fired simultaneously. Winding their way through the skies, pillars of red light streaked upward toward the trio as they turned the surrounding clouds crimson. Acting quickly, Sakamoto knocked the angry Gallian away as she deployed her shield. Making no further argument, Perrine did the same just as Minna put hers into action. The beams of solid energy struck the glowing runes and broke into many dozens of smaller beams, all scattering off into different directions in the sky. Minna kept a determined gaze downward, grimacing as she fought the destructive power of the beam which pushed against her shield. All three women were gradually being pushed further and further away from the battle below, their altitude increasing foot by foot. Unknown to any of them, one minute had already ticked by... then another, and another... soon ten had passed. After a period of time when the beams seemed to remain active for an indeterminate amount of time, their force gradually began to drop off. The girls were eventually able to slow their ascent, until finally the attack ceased altogether.

Almost immediately after the ceasefire Minna shouted to the Major, "I tried to keep looking downward during that return of fire, Mio! I see no smoke trail... no fireball, no crash or wreckage. Either they've been completely disintegrated or they're still alive. Can you confirm their position?"

Sakamoto's raptor-eyed gaze swept the skies below. Her head swiveled slowly, her eyes scanning the thin clouds and ocean a few thousand feet beneath the three of them. After what seemed to be an eternity, she finally was able to spot the blue-nosed Spitfire, much to her astonishment. Unable to contain her surprise, she gasped with shock.

"I can't even believe it... Minna, to your two o' clock, same altitude! He's actually managed to overfly the whole Neuroi! Cameron Taylor and Sergeant Bishop are still alive!"

* * *

What the young pilot had accomplished was truly the greatest feat of the time. No one pilot on record had ever engaged with, or successfully dodged, any or all fired shots from a Neuroi whilst in aerial combat. Though Lynette failed to take her killing shot at the creature, she also survived the ordeal despite being treated to the worst roller coaster ride in history. As soon as the first beam had appeared, Cameron's hands worked the yoke with an almost intimate finesse; the first of many had appeared only a few scant yards before the blue propeller hub. He took the Spitfire up onto its left wingtip, his belly of his fuselage missing the killing beam by a few scant inches. Following that one, another appeared within the same distance in the same place. His original instinct was to bank in the other direction, but his sixth sense told him otherwise. Knowing that the Sergeant protruded from the canopy a good three feet or more, he remained on the wingtip and instead responded by shoving the yoke full forward, with a noisy protest and violent shudder from the aircraft as the nose whipped away from the second pillar of energy. Cameron quickly was soaked with sweat, his hand becoming slick on the ring at the top of the yoke as he kept on with his maneuvers. Out of the corner of his left eye, he noticed a wink of red light. Without hesitation he took the Spitfire onto its back, it's grey-white belly and air intakes with RAF roundels on the wingtips showing into the skies for all to see. Only but a millisecond later, a twin set of beams crossed through the air where but a moment before his wings were. Had he still been on his wingtip, the elliptical wings of the Supermarine Spitfire would have been severed from the fuselage instantly. The incredible series of maneuvers was continued with for at least seven of the ten minutes the three women above Cameron had fought through. Once the onslaught had ended, the young man leveled his wings and peeled away from the Neuroi.

Lynette remained perched on his shoulders, quivering slightly. Her face was grey and pallid, and her rifle simply sat across her lap in a loose grip. She seemed to be completely oblivious to the situation occurring around her, simply staring forward as she remained as still as a statue. Cameron flew away in a left bank for a few minutes more, before bringing the plane back around for another strafing run. As he led into his right bank to line up with the now oncoming Neuroi, he violently jabbed Lynette in the leg.

"Lynette!" Taylor shouted angrily, "you need to focus! This is our last chance at this, and if you don't shoot... we're going to die!" A few drops of sweat ran into his eyes, stinging slightly; his head was very warm, a result of being sandwiched between Lynne's curvaceous legs during the entirety of the flight. He continued, "For Christ's sake woman, snap out of it!"

At that time, his nose pointed once again at the great black behemoth which filled the sky. The miles were quickly melting away, and the markings were once again glowing in preparation for a return shot. A few thousand feet above, Minna, Mio and Perrine were in a straight dive for Cameron and Lynette's position. Almost nose-to-nose with the creature now, the young man howled in a final desperate attempt, "FIRE THE GODDAMNED GUN!"

* * *

At the seeming end of the battle, almost every eye was turned toward the sky as every Soldier, Technician, Royal Marine and Witch watched the silhouette of the Supermarine Spitfire close the gap between itself and the Neuroi. At the very last moment, at the very last available second when it seemed that the two aircraft would kiss each other in the war-torn sky... there was a sudden wink of blue light which flashed from the Spitfire. From this blue flash came a needle-thin streak of light... then a delay of a few seconds. All the men and women 'round the lands, seas and skies which bore witness to the battle sucked in a breath, waiting for what came next with an apprehension and anticipation stretched as taught as a rubber band running from the Parliament House clock tower to the top of the Chrysler Building in New York City. The conclusion to the fierce firefight came with a low thunderclap of a rifle shot, followed by an almost standstill in time. There was another wink of blue light, the needle-thin line going through the nose of the Neuroi. Everyone gasped, craning their heads toward the sky... a few seconds more passed, until eventually a single sound confirmed what everyone had been waiting for. The true end came with a dull thump which echoed over the British Isles and the coast of Gallia. Combined with a slight concussion of air from the "detonation" of the Neuroi, everyone watched in awe as the great creature shattered into a cloud of infinite white glowing shards. The cloud of alien shrapnel seemed to swallow up the tiny fighter plane, and the air was filled with a shimmering of light.

A series of explosions followed the first then... first the forward section of the Neuroi tore itself apart, then the wings, the tail, the stabilizers... the whole thing simply burst into a cloud of white fragments, almost like glass. The trio of Witches who originally had been diving quickly changed course, deploying shields as the fringes of the fragment cloud met them. Despite the end coming to being, all still awaited the appearance of the little Spitfire who so daringly engaged the Neuroi. Minutes passed, and still not one eye caught the silhouette of the aircraft. The cloud seemed to take an eternity to dissipate, and every person who awaited Cameron and Lynette's appearance tried to simply will away the white mass of shards. Around ten minutes later, well after the trio of witches from the earlier dive had been spotted, the eagle-eyed gaze of a young artilleryman was the first to catch sight of the Spitfire. The fighter was still aloft, seemingly unharmed as it flew off toward the horizon. The young man began to shout and wail excitedly, pointing his compatriots in the direction of his sighting. From that one spot on the Dover Base, a wave of cheering seemed to sweep over the hundreds of soldiers who had been waiting in anguish. Soon the excitement spread like the plague, affecting the technicians and soon after the Royal Marines. The air around the base was soon filled with a white noise, an incredible cheering from every man and woman who had witnessed the great battle. Against all odds, the terrible creature who had so very nearly brought about the destruction of the Britannian coast... was itself destroyed.

After a brief few minutes more, the masses of soldiers spread over the Dover base began to migrate toward the remains of the runway. The men, both veterans and rookies, were cheering and shouting with excitement and triumph. Through trial and tribulation, Britannia had just narrowly survived the onslaught of yet another terrible behemoth that seemed unstoppable. It was a stroke of good luck and good graces, or possibly even deus ex machina. It was most certifiably a time to celebrate, and the soldiers hoped to make the most of this victory. As the massive crowd built on the crater-filled tarmac of the taxiways, waiting expectantly for the mystery pilot and the Sergeant to land and join the celebration, Perrine, Mio and Minna returned to the base to await Cameron's return. All seemed as perfect as could be now, and everyone was watching expectantly as the distant fighter came around to line up with the runway. Men were singing songs, rifles were firing indiscriminately toward the ocean, and a madness equal to that of Victory over Japan day in New York was building quickly. Any orders which had been issued were all but abandoned, and things were finally returning to normal. It was evening by now, and in the distance behind the base the sun was setting into a fiery orange sunset. The days events had been a great many, and had had a very powerful effect on the psyche of every man and woman that had been involved in the new Battle of Britannia. It was a day to be remembered, one which would be recorded in our history books for future generations.

With the majority of the crowd's gaze fixed on it, the Spitfire had now turned back toward the base. The drone of the fighter's engine could be heard, its roar echoing over the ocean surrounding it like a low-toned choir. Closer and closer the little aircraft came, rocking in the wind and bobbing on the gusts; its occupants were more than willing to reach the long forgotten ground. Both were worn out and tired, with neither having bathed or received a decent meal during the entirety of their adventure. Besides these simple things however, there were more important details to tend to.

Despite the upcoming festivities of the evening, as well as contacting RAF command in regards to the removal of troops from Dover and the area around Folkestone, the evening would not be as happy or joyous for those who were the base's true occupants. The medical wing would be half occupied with the young fighting women and the pilot of the freight aircraft; cases of oxygen depravation and smoke inhalation had taken their toll on the women trapped beneath the base, whilst George was being treated for his seared vision. Besides those things, there was still the terrible and dishearteningly morbid task of gathering up the body of the armorer, bled dry and stiffened completely on board the freight aircraft. Yes, there were many things which needed sorting out, serious tasks which were not to be left idle... at least not for very long. Cameron Taylor and the two witches who had befriended and accompanied him would soon be called back into service, all hoping that their efforts could start the world turning again.

In the end however, one mustn't forget that that would be then, for this was here and now. Until that time came, Cameron, Lynette and Perrine desired a well-earned rest as repayment for their efforts and combat duties. Honestly, why shouldn't the heroes of the Battle of the Dover Strait be entitled to such a luxury?

* * *

The very moment Cameron set the fighter down on the runway, the evening passed on rapidly, soon descending into nightfall. With a bark, the two main wheels made contact with the runway surface, and he taxied straight until he could no longer see over the nose of his aircraft. Taylor then resumed the same zig-zag pattern typical of tail-dragger type aircraft, until he finally had taxied back to where the freight aircraft was. Applying the parking brake, he quickly shut the engine down, powered down the avionics and released the flight harness. His head was soaked with sweat; this was the result of having flown an entire dogfight with a sixteen-year-old Britannian girl's thighs around his neck, head and shoulders. It was an experience that many could only dream of at the young man's age, but one which few if any could accomplish.

Upon being freed of her bindings, Lynne lifted herself up and onto the rear half of the fighter's glass canopy, where she sat as Cameron disembarked the aircraft. Cameron relieved himself of her curvaceous legs, and quickly clambered out of the pilot's seat and onto the wing to his left. He extended his arms toward Lynette, who quickly bound from the top of the fuselage into them. Slipping from his grip, she eagerly wrapped her arms around the young man as she fell into him and buried her face into his shoulder. Her breath was warm, and her body was very soft and oh so pleasant; her hair, still free of its braid, was a bit tangled and wind-whipped, but still danced over her shoulders and fell down her back in a cascade of strands. Both she and Cameron stood together on the wing of the Spitfire, whilst the young man returned the affectionate gesture. Hot tears trickled down the young girl's cheeks, and her eyes remained closed as she brought herself as close as she could to Cameron.

Cameron stared beyond Lynne as he hung his chin on her right shoulder. He stared at the gorgeous sunset behind her; it was a beautiful sky filled with streaks of clouds which were tinted with hues of gold and pink and orange, of which all colors were slowly sinking beyond the horizon as purple and deep blue skies crept into their domain. Whilst Lynne's arms were wrapped tightly around his torso, Cameron embraced her with his left arm below her shoulder blades, and his right reaching up her back. His breathing slowed as did his heartbeat, whilst his eyes moistened slightly. He felt as though he truly appreciated his fortune and his life now... as well as the lives of those close to him. Family, friends, lovers, comrades and others... and Lynne, oh how he loved the Sergeant beyond anything else in that world, at that very moment. His heart ached in pain as though he were not close enough to Lynette, yet he couldn't get any closer than this. Slowly, he worked his fingers into her hair, allowing it to run between them as he worked his hand onto the back of her head. He truly and genuinely loved the intricate and amazing sensations which he felt then; it felt as though he could sense what each and every nerve in his body took in. It was all so overwhelming, the softness and warmth of Lynne, her soft and silken hair, her warm breath, the familiar smell and the fabric of her uniform. He could sense her heartbeat, he could bask in her warm breath, and his mind's eye could see every inch of the girl which he held in his arms under the uniform.

Lynne was alive, he realized. She was there with him, living, breathing and warm with a heartbeat and a pulse. It was all so surreal how this young girl could be a tangible object, someone who was there, and existed and lived so brilliantly. It was because of him that Lynette was alive, because he had given his heart and soul, and had fought for her life. If she were to have died, he would have willingly died with her regardless of the consequences.

Cameron's gaze then shifted, and his eyes turned skyward. He tightened his embrace on the Sergeant then, and between gritted teeth he muttered softly, "Thank you, God... thank you."


End file.
